Brian Keene: Tequila's Sunrise

Chalco bowed again. “I am honored, Lord. But how will I do this? I am just one, and nothing special. Will you bestow special powers upon me?”

“No. As I said, I will give you a gift and teach you to open doors. With this, you will receive knowledge, which is the greatest power of all.”

“But how, lord?”

“Look inside your water skin.”

Chalco did as commanded. He unsealed the beeswax and pulled off the cap. Then he sniffed the contents. His nose twitched and his eyes watered. He peered inside the skin. It was filled with a yellow-brown liquid the color of ginger root.

“What happened to the pulque?”

“This is pulque, but it has been transformed into something more powerful—the drink of the gods. This is my gift. It is called tequila. One sip and you will unlock the doors of perception. Try it.”

Hesitant, Chalco drank from the skin. He coughed. The strange liquid tasted like wood smoke and burned his throat. His stomach lurched. Gagging, he reached in his basket and pulled out his last lime. He sucked on it to rid his mouth of the taste.

“It is bitter,” the worm agreed. “But the lime should help. Salt would also cut the bite. Do you carry salt with you? It is a good thing to have.”

Chalco started to reply, but found that he couldn’t. His tongue felt thick and swollen, and his lips were numb. It was difficult to breathe. His throat was still on fire.

“With that taste, the knowledge of how to transform pulque into this drink is passed unto your people. It stems from the agave plant. Even now, the idea takes seed in the mind of one of your clansmen. But their salvation—indeed, your entire civilization’s future—lies with you. Now, take a second sip.”

Chalco closed his eyes and did as commanded. He pursed his lips. The liquid’s kick was still strong, but he immediately followed it with the lime. His throat felt warm, but not fiery like before. His stomach muscles clenched.

Slowly, Chalco opened his eyes…

…and stared.

A doorway floated in the air above him, hovering just off the ground. The lime fell from his gaping mouth. Chalco reached out with one trembling hand to touch the door, but then yanked it away. “What…?”

“Behold. Through that door lies the Labyrinth, a dimensional shortcut between worlds, universes, and realities. This is how my kind travels from world to world, plane to plane, back and forth through time and space.”

Chalco stumbled forward, walking in a wide circle around the door. There was nothing behind it—just more mountain. He completed the circle, and stared. “But where is it?”

The worm chuckled. “Very good, Chalco. Where indeed? The door is suspended right in front of you, is it not? And yet, it isn’t. The Labyrinth is nowhere and everywhere all at once. It is the in-between—the black space amidst the stars, the backdoor of reality. What you view as a doorway, is really just an extension of the Labyrinth on this level. It is indeed an entrance—and exit—but it doesn’t truly exist here. The doors of the Labyrinth merely connect to various levels.”

“Levels?”

“Planes of existence. Different worlds and realities.”

“Why couldn’t I see the door before?”

“Because your eyes were not open. Normally, the only time your kind see the Labyrinth is when their spirit has departed their body. There are some among you—a select few—who know how to open the doorways and can traverse its passageways while they are still alive. But they have sacrificed much for that knowledge. I am bestowing the ability upon you so that you may save your people.”

“I feel dizzy, lord. My fingers are tingling.”

“That is the drink. One does not sup as the gods do without feeling the effects. Are you ready for the final sip?”

Chalco’s voice trembled. “What will happen?”

“With the third taste, you will be ready. You will go through the door and travel the Labyrinth. At the far end of the hallway is another door. You will open it, and find yourself on the beach at the time of Cortes’s arrival. The doorway will remain stationary behind you. The invaders will not be able to see it. It is only for your eyes. Hide in the foliage near the surf. Have your bow at the ready. Slay Cortes as he sets foot on your soil, and then return through the Labyrinth, taking the same path you took before.”

Chalco picked the lime back up again, brushed the dirt off, and sucked on the fruit while he listened.

“The death of Cortes will set into motion a chain of events on this level, culminating in your people’s eventual domination of the world. But be wary, Chalco. You must not be distracted. The drink of the gods sharpens your senses, but you must also maintain your wits. Although you might be tempted to travel other passageways or step through other doors, do not. Some entrances do not have exits, and not all doorways are meant to be opened. Too much knowledge is never a good thing. Stray not from the path. When you enter, go straight to the end of the passageway. After you have killed Cortes, return the way you came. Do you understand?”

Chalco nodded. Despite the lime, his mouth felt parched. His ears rang.

“Say it.”

“I understand, Lord.”

“Good.” The worm crawled to the edge of the agave. “Then partake of the third sip and throw open the doors of perception.”

Chalco drained the skin, and sat it next to the agave. There was only a small bit of liquid left inside. This time, he didn’t need the lime. He dropped the half-eaten fruit onto the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The tequila coursed through his body. The air seemed to thrum with energy. The hovering doorway shimmered. Overhead, an eagle cried out. Chalco took a deep breath and cast one last glance back at the worm. Then he pushed the door open, revealing a long stone corridor. Chalco stepped inside.

There was a flash of white light. Immediately, the eagle’s cries ceased. Chalco glanced behind him. The door was closed. There was no sign of the mountain, the agave, or the worm. They lay on the other side of the exit. He turned around. The corridor seemed to stretch into infinity. He couldn’t see the end. It was brightly lit, but there were no candles or torches. The illumination had no source. The gray stone walls were featureless, the ceiling high. There were no windows, but both sides of the hallway were lined with hundreds of closed doors. He wondered what was behind them all. More mountaintops, perhaps? Other worlds?

Admiring the masonry, Chalco touched the wall with his fingers, and then jerked them away with a gasp. The surface was cold. There was no moisture, no condensation. No texture, either—not even a crack or pit. The icy surface felt smooth. He sucked his fingertips. They were red, as if burned.

“This is not stone. It is something else.”

He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. Perhaps it was the tequila. He felt it inside him. What was it Huitzilopochtli had said? The doors to reality would be thrown open and Chalco would receive knowledge. Maybe that was how he knew that the walls weren’t made of stone. But if so, then why didn’t he recognize the mysterious substance? Was it beyond his human reckoning? Or had the drink’s effects not yet been fully realized? It didn’t matter. He was experiencing something that no Tenochan had ever beheld. The Labyrinth was the path to glory.

“Oh, Quintox,” he whispered. “If only you could be here with me now, brother. You would be proud indeed.”

He noticed that despite the length of the hall and the ceiling’s height, his voice did not echo. The sound was muted. Chalco fumbled for his knife. Clutching it in one fist, he crept down the passageway. After he’d taken thirty steps, he turned around to make sure the exit was still there. It was. The door remained shut, but visible. Heart pounding, he continued on his way. He counted the closed doors as he walked by them—twelve, then twenty-four, then sixty. The corridor was obviously longer than it looked—an optical illusion of some sort, like the mirages that appeared in the desert. His father had told him all about those. A thirsty man would see water on the horizon, but when he reached it, he’d find only sand.