Jessica Andersen - Spellfire

“This could be another kohan lie,” JT said, almost desperately, “another distraction.”

Myr said, “Rabbit didn’t hear the spell until after he renounced the kohan. What if the dreams have been the true gods trying to reach him, but they couldn’t get through because the kohan were interfering? Maybe the true gods were trying to get through to Scarred-Jaguar, too, but since he was still bound to the kohan, still praying to them, the interference was even worse. More, the kax and the kohan knew the king’s plan. They were waiting for him.”

JT made a face. “If Rabbit said the sky was purple, you’d back him up on it.”

“Hey!” Rabbit took a step toward the winikin, fists clenched, anger pumping suddenly through him, looking for an outlet. “Don’t you dare—”

“Enough!” Dez bellowed, cutting through the rising din. In the sudden silence, he seemed huge and golden, every inch their king. “You,” he forked a finger at Rabbit. “Dial it down. You”—this time he pointed at JT—“either shut up, or get the fuck out of here.” He glared around the muttering crowd. “Same goes for the rest of you. I said this isn’t a democracy, and it’s not. But I’ll be damned if I go into battle with soldiers I can’t trust.” He paused. “Look, I know you’re scared. We all are. But pretending this is where we’re supposed to be isn’t going to save us. We need to move, and we need to do it now. So go if you’re going. Otherwise, link up. Next stop: Chichén Itzá.”

Rabbit exhaled a tight breath. Thank fuck.

“No!” Red-Boar surged to his feet and flung himself to the end of his rope. “This is the intersection! This is where the gods are going to meet us!”

“Don’t worry. You’re staying.” Dez grabbed Red-Boar’s ceremonial knife off a nearby stack of ammo, and tossed it to the mage. It fell at his feet, pinging on the stones. “It shouldn’t take you too long to cut yourself free.” Waving for the others to join hands, he checked his chrono and swore. “Hurry up. We’re burning time.”

“Nooo!” Red-Boar howled, raising a booted foot over his knife. “Gods help me! Please!” Then he slammed his foot down on the etched stone blade, shattering it.

Magic detonated from the powerful sacrifice, and the air tore with a sickly rriiip, showing the gray-green of the barrier beyond.

“Shit.” Rabbit put himself in front of Myrinne, casting a shield around them both. She readied a fireball, and he did the same as other spells sprang to life.

A figure came through the gap, solidifying when it stepped onto the earth plane. Fully eight feet tall, it was a giant Mayan warrior in full regalia, wearing a cape of woven leaves and a huge headdress of cornstalks and silk.

“It’s the maize god,” Anna cried. “A kohan!”

The king didn’t hesitate. “Fire!”

A salvo of fireballs seared toward the maize god, but they deflected, slamming into the earth around the creature.

Red-Boar didn’t notice. “Tell them!” He begged the kohan, spittle flecking from his mouth. “Tell them they have to stay here and have faith! I tried. You saw how hard I tried, but—” He broke off, eyes bugging as gray-green fog erupted from the ground beneath him. His face blanked with horror. “No! You promised! You told me I could have my family back if I did what you said.”

“You failed . . . and we lied.” The words sounded in Rabbit’s head, as Bastet’s had done.

Red-Boar went to his knees in the fog. “Where’s my Cassie? Where are my sons? Please. Give them to me.”

“They are in the barrier, imprisoned along with generations of their kin. As you shall be, held ready to march for us when the barrier falls.” The rip in the barrier grew wider and the fog began drawing back inward.

“The nahwal,” Myr whispered in horror. “Your ancestors’ souls didn’t stay in the barrier to be your advisers. They’re prisoners of the kohan!”

“Fire again!” Dez shouted, and the Nightkeepers blasted another concerted volley. But it was no use. Their magic couldn’t penetrate the kohan’s shield.

“No!” Red-Boar shouted. “Don’t! Please, gods, don’t!” He surged up, tried to run, hit the end of his bonds, and fell. He screamed as the fog covered him, flowing through the tear in the barrier. For a second, the nahwal were visible beyond the gap—naked and genderless, with shiny skin and eerie black eyes. Always before, the ancestral beings had looked peaceful, otherworldly and faintly disdainful. Now, though, their eyes were wide and their mouths gaped open as they reached for the earth plane. Then the fog surged back through the opening, obscuring them.

When it cleared, the nahwal were gone. And so was Red-Boar.

A cry rose up from the Nightkeepers, and something tore inside Rabbit, sharp and vicious. He didn’t want to give a shit about his old man, but he did. Worse, there were other, far more worthy souls trapped in there with him.

Rage soured the back of his throat and he stepped away from Myrinne. “Get back and shield yourself.”

“Rabbit—”

“Just do it!” he snapped. Then, dropping his shield spell and blocking her from his thoughts—blocking out everything except the kohan and the gray-green tear in the sky—he braced himself and shouted, “Cha’ik ten ee’hochen!” Bring the darkness to me!

Wham! The tsunami hit him in the shallows this time, pummeling him not just with its own force, but with all the garbage that came with it. Frustration, resentment, impotence, fury—the dark magic rose up and hammered him with the flotsam of his life. But he knew what to expect this time. Maybe he wasn’t armored against it, or for the way some of it still resonated, but he could tamp it down enough to function.

Concentrating on the spells rather than the dangerous impulses that had gotten him into trouble so many times before, he called two fireballs, one in each hand—the left was dark, oily and rancid; the right was brilliant red and threaded through with sparks of gold. Then he brought his hands together, and the light and dark magic slammed into each other and glommed into a seething ball of red and brown.

With mad power singing up his arms, Rabbit shouted, “Cross this over, motherfucker!” And he launched the bolt at the kohan, which was still gloating in the rift, mocking Red-Boar and the nahwal.

The fireball shattered the shield spell, leaving the maize god suddenly unprotected. It whipped around with a hiss of shock and rage, its tasseled headdress flaring out in a spray of silken strands.

Rabbit summoned more magic, a killing blow of light and dark energy, and drew back his arm to—

The kohan speared its fingers at him and shouted, “Freeze!”

And he fucking froze. The spell surrounded him, locking him into place and boxing the magic in with him. The red-brown fireball spun and churned, caught in stasis.

“Rabbit!” Myr’s cry was anguished.

“Fire!” Dez ordered, and the Nightkeepers and their allies hammered the unshielded kohan with everything they had—fireballs, ice, lightning, and exploding jade-tipped rounds.

The maize god swatted aside the attack and cast another shield around itself. Then, glaring at Rabbit, it sneered, “Stay.” Like he was a fucking house pet. “You will come with me to the sacred well, to take control of the xombis. Then the kohan will control both of the armies of the undead.” It turned toward the others. “As for the rest of you . . .”

The leaves of its cloak rustled as if coming alive, and the silken strands atop its headdress lifted like cobras preparing to strike as the kohan forked its fingers and rattled off a spell. The magic flung toward the Nightkeepers’ gleaming shield. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ground shook suddenly, and green tendrils erupted inside the shield.