I See Fire | Wattys 2021/22 Shortlist | ✔

Chapter Fifty

The top of the hill where the stars kept appearing seemed to be some sort of patrol route, so I altered my course to give it a wide berth. The ground sloped beneath me. There were hills in this place after all. I circled this one to find a shelf of land cut into the side of its gentle incline. Embedded at the back of this was a building more like those burnt by Fuego than those of the Mexica empire. Coyol had taken her inspiration from the prisons of the world before, or perhaps the worst of both. The walls of the grey block were made of stone, and I could just make out the glitter of obsidian along the roof's edge. The building was windowless and fronted by a heavy-looking wooden door.

Half a dozen Centzon Huītznāuhtin paced the hill around the prison. There was no sign of the other fifty-two Coyol had left to guard the gods. Either she considered the whole field to be worth guarding, or she just didn't expect the gods' last free ally to be stupid enough to raid her prison alone.

I lay in the grass feeling pretty stupid myself. What now? Burning the guards would alert every Centzonhuītznāhua on the field to my presence, leaving me precious little time to break in and free anyone. I could tunnel like a coywolf into a chicken coop, but to do that, I either had to get close enough to dig, or far enough that the guards would not hear the crackle of the burning ground. Fuego was many things, but quiet was not one of them. That, though, would put me too far away: I couldn't waste that much energy on a tunnel of that length.

I set down my stick to free my hands. Without getting up, and avoiding sudden movements, I worked my hands back to my belt and unwound the sling Quet had given me back in the gods' house. Just this once, I was not a fire-wielding Fuego survivor. Not a burrowing coywolf, or a lizard in the grass. I was a Grillo Negro rabbit-hunter, and I was one of the village's best hunters for a reason.

I took my time extracting a stone from my makeshift pouch. Here behind the rim of the hill, nobody would see the guards fall. I loaded my sling and inched over the grass to my first position. From here, I could see a solitary Centzonhuītznāhua at the side of the building, one of the few staying near the prison walls. His own light reflecting off the stone would dull his night vision, cloaking me and the field alike behind night's dark curtain. That same light made him an easy target. At this proximity, I couldn't miss.

I waited for the other guards to look away, then rose to a crouch. The sling was so big, it made a wind-like whoosh as I whirled the rock twice and whipped it at the Centzonhuītznāhua. Headshot. It struck with a crack, and he dropped like a limp potato bag. The nearest guard jerked up at the sound. He made his way towards it, club held tight and ready. I waited for him to round the corner of the prison, then struck again. The stone connected with his temple. He toppled soundlessly over his brother.

Note to self: the softer the part of the head you hit, the less noise it made. The sickening sounds of both blows rattled around my head like an echo. I shook my head to dislodge them. This was not the time to feel bad about that. They would do far worse things to me if they caught me. They had probably done worse to the gods.

I was down to four guards now. How long would it be before the next shift arrived? Did they even work in shifts? Did beings that didn't bleed still need sleep? I bundled the thought aside and shimmied around the hollow to my next position. It was too late to stop now. If I was lucky, anyone I hit now would remain blissfully unconscious until the gods and I were long gone. Mexica slings were a weapon to be reckoned with.

With one side of the prison now unguarded, I had more hunting angles available to me. Three of the guards gathered at the top of the hill just as I'd seen while approaching. The fourth wandered the hollow. I waited for his back to turn, then fired.

I missed.

Shit, shit, shit.

I dropped flat on my stomach as the Centzonhuītznāhua swung his spear around. My fingers dug into the grass, ready to provide traction if I had to leap up and run. He knew what that sound was. He didn't even look where the stone had landed. Spearpoint aimed with unsettling accuracy, he stalked straight towards me over the grass.

I dropped the sling and fumbled for my knife. I didn't have time to think. Coywolf. Just think it's a coywolf! And it's stalking one of the children; it's going to pounce if you don't act—now. He looked away, and I jumped him from behind. He dropped without a sound. I staggered backwards, nearly dropping my blood-soaked knife as a flash flood of revulsion and horror at what I'd just done surged up through my body. Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed hard to keep from vomiting. Could they hear me panting? My ears were ringing; I couldn't hear a thing.

The world narrowed and turned belly-up without my permission, and I fell to my knees. I couldn't pass out now. Keep it together. It's not a human. It never was. Gods, did I had to do this three more times? Killing rabbits, I could do. A real coywolf was harder.

This was not a coywolf.

If they heard me now, I was screwed. I closed my eyes and focused on not being sick and not planting my own face in the grass. You burned seven of them back at the tree, and another one here. The gods have no problem killing them. They're like ants, not people. They'll obey Coyol until their dying breath. If you don't kill them, they'll kill you. And Jem. And Emma. And the gods.

They massacred La Cueva, the village in the cave. They shot Quet. Nearly shot Xolotl. Shot Xolotl's dogs. What if that had been Grifo? What if it had been Jem?

This was working. The ringing subsided, and my tunnel-bound vision broadened slowly to reveal that I was still alive and still on the field, with three guards left ahead of me. One was about to discover the two behind the prison.

I scrabbled for my sling. Those two still glowed, unlike the one now face-down in the grass not far from me. I had a rock in the cradle by the time the guard's eyes fell on his fallen accomplices. This stone slammed into the base of his skull even more silently than the last. Four down. The last two had realized something was wrong. One jumped down off the patrol path, his bow loaded. Crack. The last opened his mouth to shout an alarm. My hands moved on their own. Hunting rabbits. Hunting birds. The moment one called, the game was over.

You took that one out the fastest.

The Centzonhuītznāhua's eyes bugged as the stone struck his throat. I had aimed for the head, but my hands were still shaking. The gagging guard stumbled too close to the path's edge and plunged three meters to the ground. He lay still. Coywolf. I sprang up with knife in hand, and this time closed my eyes as I dealt the blow. The guard's body went dark. I spun away before I saw what I had done. I took two steps towards the prison, and my vision blacked out.

I opened my eyes with a wheeze. I felt like I'd just been hit by a rockslide. Everything hurt, and I had to struggle just to breathe again. I was lying against the base of the earthen wall that backed the prison, with dirt on my shoulders and debris in my hair. My aching back and winded chest told me how hard I'd been flung here.

Wards. I grabbed my hat off the ground beside me and jammed it back over my hair. I should have known. I doubted I could burn these without lighting a beacon for all to see: the last ones I'd set Fuego on had glowed as they disintegrated. I needed a way to circumvent them, or at least a covert place to burn through.

I had lost my knife when I got flung by the ward. I found it sunk into the earthen wall not far from where I'd landed. Perfect: now I didn't even have to clean the blade. I yanked it out and sheathed it, then limped around the prison building until I found a spot where the local topography tilted in my favor. I crouched down and laid both hands flat on the grass. It was harder to gather my strength when the sounds of falling Centzon Huītznāuhtin bounced off my thoughts like rogue slingstones, diverting them back to my kills. I pasted images of coywolves over each and every one. A temporary measure, maybe, but it served its purpose.

At last, I could keep Grillo Negro alone in my mind. Like I had at the tree in Mictlan, I gathered my strength and willed a fire-less burn into the ground. My hands sank down as the soil turned to ash. This time, that was exactly what I wanted.