I See Fire | Wattys 2021/22 Shortlist | ✔

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The mountains' thunder was deafening in the confines of the path. The ground shook so hard it was a miracle I stayed upright as my feet pounded as fast as my heart, then faster. Pure terror spurred me past my limits as the path narrowed at a horrifying pace. I dove the last few meters and skidded to a halt on my shoulder as the mountains crunched together a hair's breadth behind me. I let my head drop to the path. The dust's smell was as sweet as fresh cornbread. I was alive.

A whine and a distressed bark drifted back to me over the mountains.

Shit.

"Quieto!" I screamed as the path grated open. If Grifo ran too soon, he wouldn't make it through. I couldn't lose my dog. Not now. If he obeyed me now, every minute of the years of training I had put him through would be worth it.

Grifo, good, good Grifo, stayed as told, though he whined frantically. As soon as the path settled back into its open position, I shouted, "Vení!"

He ran. In just heartbeats—it felt like an hour—my dog shot from the path between the mountains with his tail between his legs and plenty of time to spare. He flung himself into a ball against my chest. I hugged him and never wanted to let go. A lick on my elbow told me I had no such luxury. I hugged Tochtli, too. She wriggled free after only a heartbeat, and set off again with an urgency only a dog trying to find its master could uphold.

The memory of Xolotl's capture returned like a swift kick to the stomach. I followed Tochtli's unwavering lead down the mountain path on this side of the pass. Below us in the dim, reddish light, the foothills swept halfway to the horizon before blending with a distant plain. The hills weren't the same colour as the ones we had left behind. I doubted it was a trick of the light.

By the time we reached the bottom of the mountain, the ground had taken on a texture like lizard's scales. I was glad I used my knife and not my hand to brush aside the grass. Shards of flint so sharp their edges cut the shadows bristled from the soil. From slivers the size of my fingernail to blades the length of my knife, the carpet of stone razors swept unbroken for what I already knew must be miles.

How was I going to cross this?

Tochtli was already at the end of the path. She placed her paws carefully as the ground deteriorated into a stone forest ready to shred skin to the bone if any of us fell. She made it look so easy, like she'd made this trip a thousand times before. Maybe even several thousand. She probably had, now that I thought about it. How long did Xolotl's dogs live? And how often did they come further than the other bank of the river? The dead clearly didn't lose their need for guidance after they left the boats behind.

I quickly realized there were enough spaces between the crops of flint to place my feet, but they were irregular and hard to spot. In some places, I would have to jump. I scanned the mountainside behind me. The plants that grew on it were small and ragged, with anything larger stripped bare by souls who'd had the same idea as me. I clenched my hands. Tochtli was still probing the edge of the field. She had summoned a canoe and paddle, but I suspected that anything beyond that would be up to me.

I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. How did this work? Summoning simple objects didn't take a full grounding—just a need for their existence. I crafted a mental image of a walking stick, then prodded my wish for it into a strong desire. My hands tingled. I opened them and held them palm-up in front of me. So much for swearing off magic. This was going to hurt; I could already tell. The tingle intensified into a burn as I took the image of the stick and moved it to my hands, begging it to exist. I gritted my teeth as the pain flared. I needed to get across this field.

To my credit, I managed not to cry as a final sear ended with a sudden weight. I closed my fingers gingerly around the walking stick that had materialized in my grasp. I had done it! I gave the stick a twirl, but burn-blisters across my palms stung with the sudden pressure. I held one hand out to Tochtli for a lick. She shied away with folded ears and frightened eyes.

My temporary elation evaporated. My magic came from Fuego, no less dangerous for being locked inside me. Did a negative grounding seep through even in magical acts that didn't require it? Or was Fuego going to burn me whatever I did, until I found a way to control it? Irritation stung me more strongly than fear at the possibility. What did this magic want from me? Wasn't saving the world enough grounding to pause the burning?

Or was there a difference between trying to save the world, and trying to stop its destruction? Diez madres, should it matter? In a surge of venom, I imagined every good thing that would come from Grillo Negro and Tepepia's union, if I could get them to meet, and if they got along. No more empty tents. No more burying babies before a year of age. No more sitting at the edge of a party, seeing the dying that no one else saw.

I rammed my walking stick into the ground and pushed past Tochtli, only to be halted by a cool breeze on the bottom of my foot. I backed up and lifted it. A flint shard I had not spotted had sliced clean through my boot. A nick in my sock beneath told me just how close I had come to being crippled.

We didn't have time, but I was risking further injury if I continued like this. Tochtli paced, whining, as I gathered tinder and made a tiny pile on the path. I stared it down. My fingers tingled as though eager to light something at the mere thought of fire. I could already sense it would be easier than summoning an object. Easier by far. I shuddered at the thought of my magic acting up like Emma's. Fuego didn't have memories like normal magic did. It didn't even have a calling. But it still felt alive, and it wanted to burn things. That was not the kind of control I wanted to give this disease.

If I burned anything, it was going to be Coyol, Cihua, Centzon Huītznāuhtin, or the turkey god. I would prefer to leave the former three to the god siblings, of course, but I would happily roast the turkey.

I pulled out my flint and steel instead. Lighting the fire took longer than we could spare, and melting pitch glue to seal the slash in my boot took longer. This would have to be a half-job, finished properly when we were out of this mess. When I was confident the fix would keep out stone dust at least, I put out the fire and waved Tochtli towards the field of knives.