I See Fire | Wattys 2021/22 Shortlist | ✔

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Only that much?" said Tezcat.

Xolotl passed the gourd wearily to Tlaloc, who trickled a quarter mug for each of them and set the rest aside in a jar for Huitz. I clenched my fists beneath the table. Three days, and still no action on ridding me of Fuego. This time, both Chal and Tezcat were the holdup. The skirmish yesterday had drained them both, and today's matzin ration wouldn't be doing them any favours. I'd asked about alternatives, but any magic that didn't involve making things or energy teleport, appear, or disappear required a spell and a spellcaster. I'd been told the two gods were setting aside magic bit by bit to gather the full power needed for the sealing spells, but against Emma's split-second execution of the first seal, it was maddeningly slow.

Which left me stuck again, forcing a smile as we wound up for a day of who-knew-what, pretending to be upbeat so Jem and Emma didn't figure out that I'd gotten almost no sleep the night before. Half of it was toss-turning anxiety that Fuego had been the one to burn my fingers. The other half was a nasty dream about Centzon Huītznāuhtin, incinerating Grillo Negro by accident, and giant snakes.

I also had to convince the gods that I felt at home and was not, in fact, fantasizing about running away before I finished my Fuego training. This was going to be a long day.

Tezcat raised an eyebrow at the meagre cup of matzin passed to him. At least he was in a good mood.

"Be grateful she didn't find another village to incinerate," said Quet. He snagged his twin on his way by and passed him a white ribbon. "I can't lift my arms..."

Xolotl tied his hair back for him, then dropped into the next chair and put his head down.

Tezcat poked him with a crutch. "Go to bed."

"We're doing things today."

"And you were up all night. Go to bed."

The crutch-pokes grew more and more forceful until Xolotl was prodded to his feet and beaten out the door. Tezcat gave him a last whack across the back of the knees as he escaped down the hallway. The night god returned the crutch to its partner against the wall. "Alright. Let's get down to business, shall we?"

We cleared the table. Tlaloc snapped his fingers, and a veritable marketplace of materials appeared. There were piles of long, thin wood shafts, baskets of sharp-edged stone, baskets of round stone, a basket of turkey feathers, a jar of pitch glue, fluffy heaps of plant fibers, and a large pile of clay on a wooden slab. It was like a colibrí-making operation in Grillo Negro scaled up to five times the size with twice the materials, and I almost expected Graciela to toddle out from under the table, clapping her hands with a fat grin and giggling like her siblings.

"Want to help?" said Chal.

"What can I do?" said Jem.

She tossed him a coil of sinew and a stone to beat it with. I retrieved a bowl to soak the resultant fibres in until they were soft enough to work with.

"Everyone's got paint, right?" said Xochi, claiming the feather basket. "Tezcat, can you make the points?"

He tossed her an obsidian arrowhead he had practically flicked into existence without a spark of magic. She teleported it to the table rather than catching it, and set about splitting feathers. Chal trimmed wooden shafts and cut them to different lengths. When she found bent ones, she steamed them over the fire Xipe had lit in a bowl to melt pitch on.

Tezcat had several more arrowheads now, piled neatly on a square of deerhide. Petal-thin shards of smoky black glass littered another square beneath his hands. He emptied these into a bowl. Tlaloc rolled a clay ball in them and set it on a baking tray.