Cece Rios and the King of Fears, page 11
“It is said that gods Named us from What Could Be. Some say What Could Be is the potential for creation. Some say it is the place where all life waits before it is born. Regardless, we know this is the natural process of all life—to be pulled willingly from What Could Be, to become a soul given mortal flesh. Yet, there is one who was denied its proper Name, and the form that should have followed.” She lowered the glass gift in her hands. “This is what Coyote could not, or did not want to, remember: that he pulled El Cucuy from What Could Be—but never gave him his Name.”
The information poured over me in a dizzying wave. “But—how could El Cucuy not have a Name?” I didn’t think you could be alive without one.
Metztli brushed more dust away from the glass bottle to reveal a window of pure, clear water. She breathed deeply, holding the glass as she tilted it into the sun. The light caught on the water inside the bottle, and a picture began to form. I drifted closer, lips separating, as the image of a strange, twisted shadow crawled its way in. My breath caught. It was the silhouette of a monstrous criatura. It had backward animal legs, a torso too big for itself, teeth in places where they shouldn’t be, and long arms that tangled like parasitic vines. But every few moments, its shape changed slightly, like it had no original state to return to.
“El Cucuy is the one dark criatura who was not Renamed from another creation,” Metztli said simply. My lungs felt starched. That was El Cucuy? The amorphous, twisted silhouette rippled and faded a bit. “He is the one being in all Antiguo Amanecer who was pulled from What Could Be, and instead of a Name, was given only Coyote’s anger and hatred. El Cucuy is suspended in a limbo of twisted creation. Coyote made the misshapen creature to fix what he thought he could not. He let him loose on the worlds with only one prerogative: to instill order at any cost. That is why El Cucuy seeks to take control of the human world. That is why he will not stop until the seal my sisters sacrificed themselves to create is broken.”
“And this”—she looked up at me—“is what I showed Coyote. So he will no longer run from the pain. So he will no longer continue the cycle.” She placed the glass bottle in my hands, and I watched the ever-morphing image of El Cucuy with a sharp, held breath. “Coyote is a child in this lifetime. He has a chance to be different from what he was. But only if he chooses it.” She placed a hand on my cheek. “You cannot choose it for him, Cece. This, he must do on his own.”
But—Coyote was my best friend. Metztli patted the bottle in my hand and walked past me, gathering other things from her ancient home. I’d talked Coyote through his hard times. He’d talked me through mine. Isn’t that how you loved people well? By carrying things for them? I glanced out the window. Coyote had his head leaned forward, his hands over his face, in the distance. The position reminded me so much of Papá, I shivered.
I turned away. Coyote had actually reminded me a lot of Papá today. From his anger to his evasion, all I’d wanted to do was cringe away from him. And at the same time, I was afraid that, if I did, he’d finally give up. Just like Papá had.
I’d lost my papá a second time today. I didn’t want my best friend to leave me too.
“Do not fear, Cece,” Metztli said. I looked up to find her smiling gently. “Now that you have restored me, we will end El Cucuy soon, and set the world aright at last.”
Oh, she must have mistaken what my expression was about. I tried to smile back, but I couldn’t form one properly. “I—guess.” I peered at El Cucuy’s picture. “But it’s kind of sad, isn’t it? It sounds like . . .” I stroked the glass. “It wasn’t even his fault.”
“It is the only way to end his suffering.” Metztli looked sympathetic, but she finished packing tablets and stones, beads and dried plants, inside her bag with knowing precision. “And the suffering of my sisters.” She stopped in the door, reaching her steady hand out. “We must break the cycle, Cece.”
I hesitated. “But how do we finish the seal?”
She and El Silbón had both talked about it a lot. I checked the bottle of water again, but El Cucuy’s silhouette had vanished.
“Once you open the portal to Devil’s Alley using your powers, I will fuse my soul into El Cucuy, just as my sisters did long ago,” she said.
I jerked my head up. Her face was calm, and grave, and steady.
“That will complete the seal,” she said. “Then, El Cucuy will not be simply restricted to Devil’s Alley. He will be turned to stone.”
My mouth dropped open. El Silbón had told me about how the seal was missing a curandera, which I’d since guessed was Metztli, but I didn’t know that was because the seal was literally made of their souls.
“Wait—so they had to die? And—and you—?” I stepped forward, gripping my soul necklace.
“It was a spell of ultimate sacrifice. Our last resort.” Metztli pressed a hand to the doorframe. The lights in her eyes were faded, almost washed out. “My sisters and I were the last of the curanderas to survive the years of attacks leading up to the battle of Tierra del Sol. By then, we were the only ones standing between El Cucuy’s vast army and the end of the world of Naked Man. We were outnumbered. Our powers were not enough on their own. There was only one option left to preserve our people.” She closed her eyes. I could almost feel the pain, quiet though it was on her face, stretching out from her soul. “As a moon curandera, I have no physical powers like those of my sisters. But in the wisdom of the moon, I made our plan, a spell that had never been done before. If we combined our abilities, and welded our souls into El Cucuy—my light to his mind, Consuelo’s water to his heart, Yollotl’s fire to his soul, and Reina’s dust to his flesh—we could will him into stone. But El Sombrerón caught me as my sisters started the ritual.” Her lips pressed together. “I could not do my part. I failed them, at the last.”
I watched Metztli’s back. Maybe it was because I’d touched her soul once before, but for a moment, I almost thought I could hear her insides crying out to her sisters: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If only Coyote hadn’t done what he did. None of this would have happened in the first place, and I would not have failed you.
She was still mad at him. The way I was, deep down, at my papá. I could tell she didn’t want to be, either. Like she believed in treating him better than her heart was ready to.
“I will not fail them again. Come, Cece.” She stretched her hand out to me again. “Though two hundred years late, this time, the curanderas will triumph.”
I hesitated as the frightening, twisted image of El Cucuy swam through my mind. Why did the idea of turning him to stone make me sad? I clenched my gut. I’d taken out El Sombrerón and Rodrigo the Soul Stealer; El Cucuy was their boss, the first Dark Saint, who let them do all the terrible things they did. I shouldn’t feel bad. But El Cucuy had never had a choice in who he was. I wished we could give it back to him.
Still, if I had to pick between letting him wreak havoc on both the worlds, or turning him to stone—my throat tightened—what else could I do?
Slowly, I crossed to Metztli. I didn’t have the heart to take her hand. I just walked into her and buried my face in her shoulder, away from everything. Metztli didn’t seem surprised or upset. She just gently stroked her hand through my hair, humming a song I didn’t know, as thoughts of Papá, Coyote, El Cucuy, and Metztli’s impending sacrifice threatened to crash over and drag me down.
14
Juana Rios and the Court of Fears
Lion and I plummeted deep beneath the clear, icy water of the dungeon’s cenote.
I twisted, caught between the heavy cloth of my dress and the pressure of the skull on my face. Little Lion clutched me. I latched on to him in return and tried to swim us to the surface. But just like the bruja had said, something was pulling us down. It was a heavy, invisible, irresistible undertow.
The current won, and we all fell out of the bottom of the water.
I slammed into concrete, and it knocked the wind out of me. Breathless and bruised, I stumbled up, ripping out my knife as Little Lion, Bruja Damiana, and Axolotl all slapped down on the stone floor around me. I turned wildly, scanning our surroundings for danger.
Above our heads, the cenote’s water floated, a liquid ceiling suspended by some kind of magic. I stood below it in a large circular room carved out of stone. Something grinded through the air. I turned and found a pair of silver doors extending out from the far side of the wall, like they were bleeding out from the rock. The doors and its frame set in place quickly, and I blinked. Sporadic colors flashed between its cracks, and low groaning sounds poured out of it. What the sunset was that? Where was I? Around the rest of the room, dim, glowing crystals offered blue and lavender light as an escape from the darkness.
Footsteps crunched behind me. I whirled around, knife ready.
A creature unfolded inch by clattering inch into the low, phosphorescent glow of the stones. The light outlined the sharp bones of her skull face and caught in the owl and quetzal feathers of her headdress. Through a wall of pure fire opal bars, I met the hollow eye sockets of the Criatura of Progeny, Stars, and Devouring.
“Tzitzimitl,” I breathed.
Confused heat coiled up inside me. Tzitzimitl’s name had had a particularly bad taste to our familia after Cece had rescued her. She was why Cece was considered weak. Why no one trusted her. Why Mamá taught me about our opal knives, and why, she said, I had to protect Cece with my life.
But Tzitzimitl was also the reason Cece was alive today. When Rodrigo had stolen her soul out of her chest, Tzitzimitl had talked her back to life. And Tzitzimitl, of all beings, had been the one to see that Cece’s water soul had been strong all along. That still hurt, knowing a criatura had understood my sister better than I did.
“I know that face,” Tzitzimitl said, her jaw parting to let out a low voice. “You wear the bones of the Soul Stealer. But beneath, I smell a Rios blessed with fire. Only, there is smoke and heat where light and warmth once lived.” She pointed to me through the bars. “Why have you come to the terrible prison of El Cucuy?” The silver moons in her headdress flashed. “Why have you sought out the Court of Fears, Juana Rios?”
Tzitzimitl gestured widely with her bony hands. Dizzy and sick, I turned to better take in my surroundings. Six prison cells were evenly spaced around the walls. Unlike the ones in the tunnels below, these weren’t crystals. They were made of pure fire opal bars that glowed lightly even when no one touched them. Inside each prison cell sat a stone throne carved with ancient writing I couldn’t read. Two cells were empty. But each of the other four held a dark criatura.
My breath seized in my chest. On the far side of the room sat Atotolin, the Bird King. Mamá had told me stories about him—the dark Criatura of Wind and Fortune. He had long red hair braided down his head, smooth brown skin, and tattoos of feathers lined his bare chest. Behind him, large blue wings sprouted from his back, but they were covered in grime from time in prison. He stared with yellow eyes, the gold mask of a bird’s beak secured over his mouth.
“Have you forgotten us, Naked Man? After we fought for you in the battle of Tierra del Sol?” he asked. “Or have you remembered that you should have fought with us, and you’ve come to join the rebellion?” He gestured to the north end of the room.
In the cell there, another dark criatura perched on his throne. The criatura was a small man, about three feet tall, with a complicated bun tied tight at the top of his head. A glowing red stripe streaked from one of his temples to the other in a thick line. He folded his arms and watched me from his seat. His eyes were a mottled green and brown color, swirled together like paint. I knew this dark criatura too, though his story was so ancient, I’d thought it wasn’t even real—Alux, the Guardian of Mother Desert’s Bones. It was said that, should you disrespect Mother Desert’s lands, he would curse you and your children for seven generations.
“She has not come for us or our cause,” Alux said. As he lifted his chin, I caught the long, pointed tips of his ears. “She is here for herself. But something about her is reminiscent of Yollotl, is it not, La Lechuza?”
I swung to face the back of the room. A tall woman hunched in a slant of turquoise light, behind the grate of glowing orange bars. She wore a mask with an old woman’s face carved into it, and instead of hair, a cascade of owl feathers draped down her back. La Lechuza—the Owl Witch, Criatura of Widows and Screams. She lifted a finger to tap the chin of her mask. It was long and taloned and clacked against the wood carvings.
“There is, Alux,” she agreed. “Yet unlike Yollotl, this one has not learned what her true power is, let alone where it comes from.”
I spun wildly as they spoke, trying to keep my eyes on all of them at once. One of the first rules of the Amenazante dance was to always keep your enemy at your front. But there was nowhere safe here to turn my back. I flashed from one terrible criatura figure to the next. If I’d had my heartbeat, it would have been thrashing against my ribs.
I was trapped here, surrounded by monsters.
I rounded on Bruja Damiana, where she was helping Axolotl up. “How do we get out of here?” I demanded.
She pulled Axolotl to her chest. “We don’t.”
“Don’t lie to me!” My knife flared.
“She is not lying,” Tzitzimitl said. I froze, hands shaking on my knife. She steadied her lifeless gaze on me. “There is only one way out from this place now. Though I had never thought to see it for myself.” She lifted her jangling finger bone to the doors on the far side of the space. “The silver doors are an ancient legend, so far gone none but the oldest of beings remember. For some reason, Juana Rios, they appeared when you fell here. But what waits on the other side, no one truly knows. It is said the silver doors contain an ever-changing void, the one place in Devil’s Alley that El Cucuy cannot control. So they come and go as they please.” She tilted her head, and her moon pieces glittered. “However, legends say the doors will take you wherever you need to be—if you do not lose yourself to your fears. Otherwise, it’s said you will be lost forever.”
Her words buzzed through my skull. Of course the only exit was also a trap. Everything in this place was wretched and cruel, and I was sick of it. Sick of it inventing a thousand new ways to overpower me. I let out a frustrated screech and pulled my hair. Fine, then. I’d go in the void. By sheer force of will, I’d forge my way through it and into the rest of the castle. I couldn’t let this place, brujas, criaturas, or El Sombrerón trap me like I was some plaything.
The world smeared, just for a moment, as I charged for the doors, knife blade out. I didn’t pause to listen for the groaning, grinding sounds rattling beyond. I didn’t hesitate. I pried one of the doors open, roared, and threw myself inside.
El Sombrerón was waiting for me.
Just like before, my entire body went cold. A scream rattled inside me—only, no, it was chains. Heavy, iron links snaked out from the groaning walls around me and wrapped around my waist. My old scars ached, and I swung my knife at the metal.
“No!” I screamed. “I won’t let you trap me, not again, I won’t—”
“Juana, stop!”
The image of El Sombrerón shimmered again. I shook my head. The noise of the chains and the corridor dimmed. No way. Was I—hallucinating again? Something warm cupped my cheeks—even though I couldn’t see anything touching me at all—and squeezed.
“Wake up, Juana!” Lion’s voice boomed.
The image in front of me crumbled. I closed my eyes and shook my head, and when I opened them again—I was still standing in the middle of the circular room. I hadn’t taken even one step closer to the silver doors like I’d thought. Instead, I was bent over a cowering Bruja Damiana and Axolotl, my knife plunged into the ground beside Damiana’s shoulder, where I’d left a deep, bleeding cut she must have barely dodged.
Damiana had a trembling Axolotl buried in her chest, and pieces of Axolotl’s hair scattered around Damiana’s wound and my knife. I’d—almost stabbed her. Damiana had protected her. From me.
Horror sunk deep into my bones. These knives were made for protecting. Not for—this. I ripped it away from her. Sharp crystals were growing up my feet, nearly welding me to the floor. The dark gems surrounded me in a circular base that looked exactly like the start of the fear-made prisons Lion and I had passed on our way here. I struggled to straighten up with my trapped feet. Lion helped me up and held my face, offering an anchor to reality.
“You’ve got to stay here, Juana,” he said, almost violently. His hands shook on my cheeks, as his face struggled against a wave of emotion. “I’ve been here before, okay? I’ve lived where you are now. Your tía kept me trapped long after Coyote freed me from her because I was trying to fight what happened. But nothing you do now will change the past. It happened. It hurt. It was awful, and wrong, and you have to let go.” His jaw trembled. Moisture pooled in his eyes. I started to push him, but he held on. “Don’t you get it? The more you try to outrun it, the more power your fears will have over you. If you keep going like this, trying to fight your fears, and the ones who gave them to you, you’re going to lose. And you’ll lose you.”
Lion finally released me. The crystals crumbled from my feet as my head echoed with his words. Over Lion’s shoulder, over the heads of Bruja Damiana and Axolotl, I caught my reflection in the silver doors across the room. The bones of Rodrigo the Soul Stealer looked back at me.
My hair hung wild around the skull, and my eyes nearly disappeared behind the face of the monster. I was—losing myself, wasn’t I? I glanced around, slowly, distantly. The trapped Court of Fears, ancient and frightening dark criaturas, watched me like I was the caged animal.
“We did not select our inheritances either, Juana Rios.” Tzitzimitl’s voice reached for me. I turned, my breathing painful and slow. “We understand how you feel. Each member of the Court of Fears was Renamed by Coyote. Once changed, we became the first of our kind, dark criaturas meant to serve El Cucuy as his loyal inner circle.” She stepped up to her bars, so they glowed brighter. “But we chose, instead, to use our powers against El Cucuy. We allied with the curanderas who protected your world.” She pointed to my knife, to where it now simmered in my loose grip. “You did not get to choose whether El Sombrerón hunted you. But you choose now, Juana Rios. Will you surrender your bright, protective fire for the smoke and tragedy El Sombrerón has bequeathed you?”
