Hungry Ghosts (Eric Carter #3)(46)

“They’re not trees,” Tabitha says. She picks up a rock from the ground and strikes a sharp corner against one of the trunks. The tree visibly shudders and bright red blood walls up from the cut. “They’re Cihuateteo. Women who died in childbirth and brought here by the goddess Cihuacoatl. They’re warriors and they’re given one of the most important jobs, guardians of Mictlan. Try not to piss them off.”

Tree warriors. Something tells me that they’re not nearly as immobile as they seem.

“Cihuacoatl. She’s a fertility goddess, right? I remember reading that somewhere. Where is she now?” But I hadn’t heard of this thing with the trees. I wonder how much of the histories and myths I’ve read are actually true. Like so many of them around the world, they’re never quite what you think they are.

“One of several,” Tabitha says. “Dead. Missing. So many of the gods scattered, disappeared, or flat out died. Hard to say.” She pushes past another tree, squeezing through its branches. It takes me a little longer to get through the tight space.

“Any of the other gods still around? Quetzalcoatl?”

“Quetzalcoatl’s been missing ever since he got his ass handed to him by Mictlantecuhtli. You know about that, right?”

“I know he sided with the Spanish,” I say. “But that’s all.”

“He’d been lending his power to the Spanish. Hitting the other gods while the Spanish took on the Aztecs. Mictlantecuhtli and he got into a fight and Quetzalcoatl lost. But by then it was already too late.”

Pieces are beginning to fall into place. Mictlantecuhtli told me he’d been trapped in his tomb when he did something to a weapon the Spanish were using. So maybe that weapon was Quetzalcoatl and that’s why he’s got such a hard-on to burn this place down?

It fits, but is it right?

Tabitha disappears past a tree and I struggle to keep up, tree branches snagging at my clothes, as though the Cihuateteo are actively trying to slow me down. And who knows, maybe they are.

I get past one more tree and stumble out into a massive, stadium sized amphitheater of carved stone steps leading down into a pit a good forty feet deep. An arch of thick bricks carved with stylized skulls sits at an angle at the bottom, a dim, yellow glow emanating from inside.

Vines crawl down from the tree line. Tall wooden scaffolds of horizontal poles dot each level of the amphitheater all the way down to the bottom. Each pole in the rack pierces a dozen skulls, their lower jaws missing, tattered skin hanging loose off the bone.

“Tzompantli,” I say. Racks filled with the skulls of sacrificial victims. “The drawings don’t do them justice. There’s gotta be, what, couple thousand skulls here?”

“Easily,” Tabitha says. “Come on.” She starts down the steps, navigating past the rows of tzompantli. I follow her down.

“So what’s with the Cihuateteo? Why are they here and not around the entrance to the Crystal Road out in the bone desert?”

“They used to be,” Tabitha says. “Cihuacoatl has a thing for crossroads. Groves surrounded all of the entrances. But like everything else, once Mictlantecuhtli was locked up it all went to shit. Cihuacoatl disappeared, the Cihuateteo died off. Only ones left are on this side of the mists.”

“And the tzompantli?” I stop to look at one of the racks. Most of the skulls are bare, but a good third of them are still covered in skin and muscle. I poke at one with my finger and its eyes pop open, milky orbs staring at me.

“Ambiance.”

The trees above us groan as though twisting themselves into shapes they weren’t designed for. Creaking. A snapping of wood. And then a guttural howl shatters the air.

“That’s our cue to leave,” Tabitha says. She hurries down the steps, taking them two at a time.

“Hold up, I want to see it,” I say.

I watch the trees weave together into a twisted bonsai wall. The howling grows louder, a guttural shriek of anger and frustration, a tearing of wood. That thing is pissed.

“Stick around and you can see it up close and from the inside.”

A dark shape pokes over the tree line. The Ahuizotl scrambles to get over where it can’t get through. It looks to be about the size of a lion. A dog’s face with a wide slash of a mouth filled with enormous teeth. Hands where paws should be, finger tipped with razor sharp claws. Its tail whips up over its head and another hand at the end of it grasps the top of one of the trees to help it climb.

It catches sight of me, its eyes flashing a bright red. It doubles its efforts, tearing and ripping through the trees. The trees retaliate by growing more branches to block it.

That thing is fucking terrifying.

“Okay, I’ve seen it,” I say and run to the archway where Tabitha is waiting for me.

“Great. Can we go now?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good plan. Wait. Can’t it follow us in there?”

“Eventually, yes. The arch will resist it, but it won’t last forever. I want to get as much distance between us and it. With any luck we’ll lose it inside.”

“Luck really isn’t my strong suit,” I say.

“Yeah, I’d noticed. Come on.” She steps into the arch and disappears in a flash of light. I hesitate at the entrance. So far my track record with being in Mictlan is not exactly stellar. Is this going to work? Is this a trap?