The 13 Secret Cities (Omnibus) (41 page)

“What do you think of this?” I said. I took out my wallet and handed it to a tendril. I had no use for money down here.

The city seemed satisfied with this, because her tendrils took it away and the purple glow expanded, revealing another tall door, shaped like a giant star with jagged edges. As I approached it, it shrank into itself, like a sponge, until it made an opening for me to step through.

As I entered the palace, I realized that the wallet had contained my tiny laminated icon of the Virgin. I wanted it now, not because of the Virgin, but more that because it reminded me of home.

But it was gone, and there was no turning back.

I walked into the biggest hall that my mind could possibly comprehend.

The Palace of the Skulls was a room that shone in pearly black liquid walls that stretched like taffy into the heavens. It felt open and claustrophobic at the same time, and I marveled at the way in which its walls flowed slowly, like lava.

And then from the walls, I heard a rattle. At first it was soft, like a child’s toy, but then it grew into the sound of a snake’s tail, and soon it was big enough to shake the ground under me.

Inside the molten black walls, I spotted hundreds — no, thousands — of skulls. They came in all shapes and sizes, some curled over like a corkscrew, many of them humanoid. They slid downward, while some others flowed upward. And from each one of them, music sprang.

Every skull spoke its name in a shard of music, and they formed a chorus of millions that made my heart quicken. These were the songs of things that had once been alive, but their skulls rang out their glory like faded vinyl recordings on a record player.

I felt very afraid and so foreign. I knew the skulls on these walls were of creatures that had never been on earth, and that would probably never be. Creatures from this dimension and not mine. Feral, intelligent, dead, and still staring at me through their eye holes.

And I remembered what my mother had said.

When you step inside the Palace of the Skulls.

“I guess I made it,” I said.

Hundreds of voices echoed my words inside the slick walls.

“I guess I made it,” they said.

I walked faster.

“And the story, you owe me the story,” I said to the city.

“Oh, I did not forget.” Down at the end of the hall, a tiny opening the size of a pinpoint let in a breeze. As we approached, it widened, and the skulls around me chattered their teeth. “The Black Tezcatlipoca always antagonized his brother White Tezcatlipoca. Each of them was so beautiful in his own way. The White, so glorious in his feathered snake body, while the Black Tezcatlipoca shifted in shape so often, not much more than a blur. His face always shone in black, and the two brothers fought through many wheels. And one day, as they played inside the gardens on my rooftop, they heard the monster approach. The monster was named Cipactli, and he was almost the size of this canyon. Would you like to see my memory of the Cipactli?”

“No.” The fact that most of the four Tezcatlipocas had abandoned this city scared me, but the notion of a monster much larger than the brothers scared me more.

“Well, the White and the Black Tezcatlipocas realized that this Cipactli monster would destroy everything in the canyon if they didn’t stop him. And once, just that once, the brothers worked together to defeat the monster.”

“How?”

“They used Black Tezcatlipoca’s foot as bait. And the Cipactli monster took it. He chewed through it like an egg, and the brothers captured the beast. They used the Cipactli’s flesh to make dirt, and to build roads inside Mictlán. The very roads you used to cross the lake and reach my doors are made from this monster, a being made of crocodile and teeth hard as stone.”

“Freaky!” I said, and I wondered what made me say that. José María would have made such an exclamation before. Not me.

“The two brothers saved the world. For this reason, the northern road, which is the road of Mictlán and the road that leads to the lords, was given to Black Tezcatlipoca.”

“And the Ocullín?”

“That monster came from the worst emotions inside of Black Tezcatlipoca. Haven’t you ever felt an anger that you thought might consume your very flesh, girl?”

“Yes. I have felt it.”

“That type of anger is what the Ocullín is made from.”

“One last question,” I said. “When I was last here, and I touched the waters of the lake—”

“That was the Ocullín waiting for you beneath the waters. He had been waiting there for you there for many wheels.”

“And my dead ancestor that emerged from the water?”

“That was the Ocullín’s trickery, too. Draped in a cloak of illusion. Surely you have seen this cloak?”

“Many times, unfortunately.”

“The Ocullín thrives on lies and fear.”

The door had widened to the size of a building, and I walked out onto the Northern Road. I felt the city trailing after me. I put my fingers on the mossy tendrils and smelled millennia of time on those vines.

“Thank you for letting me come through,” I said.

“I like your gift. To reach the Lords, just continue through the Snow Fields.”

“Thank you.”

“Watch your step. There are beings that can see you when you walk through the Snow Fields.”

I turned around, and the opening in the city was gone, and the cylinder resumed its rotation on top of the lake.
 

I walked on the snow, and I was grateful that I had worn so many layers for the trip.

During my walk, I didn’t encounter a single animal, insect, or plant. I walked for a long time, and time dissolved. But my mind didn’t fret over the loss of time, because I knew the Lords were the ones eating it. The snow under my boots chilled my feet, and I walked into a silence that was deeper than a dead galaxy.
 

I heard the throb of the Lords, and I knew that they could hear me, too.

MICTECACÍHUATL AND MICTLANTECUHTLI

“Empty cities are scary cities.” – Ron Amadeo, exclusive WTTW interview regarding his memoir
I Continue to Be the King,
2017.

“Everything you need to know is in Frida Kahlo’s painting
The Two Fridas.
” – Clara Montes,
A Kiss in the Dreamhouse,
Aleph Digital Press, Paris/Mexico, 2034.

“There are cities made of gold, and there are cities drenched in dew. There’s a city in a coil; it eats me, and it eats you.” Arkangel, “Rhapsody,”
The Violet Album,
2008, Reckless Records.

The Snow Fields spanned thousands of miles, and I walked them. The air kissed my forehead, and at this depth in the Coil, the scents of flowers became very faint. Instead, I tasted something like sea water in the air.

I only heard the sound of my breathing and the crunch under my boots.

I don’t know how I didn’t notice someone had been walking next to me. I felt his body radiate heat, and I heard the deep bell sounds that rang from his body.

“Just a few more steps, Wanderer,” the Xolotl said.

Suddenly, he looked comical to me. Skinny legs, a caved-in chest, and the head of a hairless dog.

“Am I going to have give you a tip after this little tour?” I said.

“What is a ‘tip’, Wanderer?”

“I could explain, but the joke’s already gone. Had to be there.”

“Tell me about your ‘jokes,’ then.”

“You know, when things don’t go as you expected, sometimes, you laugh. That’s humor.”

“I don’t understand your meaning, Wanderer.”

“Haven’t you ever laughed?” I said. Down in the distance, I felt the ground slope upward. We were coming up on a shallow hill.

“Wanderer, how often will you be returning to the Coil?”

“I have no intention on coming back. I’ve come for my tonal and to retrieve my brother.”

“Is this when
I
should laugh?” he said.

I bit my lip and shook my head.

The slits in the Xolotl’s chest emitted tiny clicks, and he dug his claws into my shoulder. It was a gesture that felt friendly but also territorial, like an eagle digging its talons into a mouse before devouring it. I would never understand the feral nature of this being.

“I enjoyed our adventure, Wanderer. You can always call for the hummingbirds in your city of towers. And they will fly to you.”

“Thank you.”

“And your brother? Where is he?” I said.

“You have seen his traces, the essence of his feathered-serpent form wrapped inside my body, but there are things that I don’t know. But if he returns, I will know. He blazes.”

I took the Xolotl’s right hand in mine, and I did my best to shake it. The sharp edges of his claws grazed the palm of my hand, and I had to put my left hand over his to let him know I was saying goodbye.

I heard the Xolotl turn back, and his bells rang off in the distance. Now I stood on the lip of a shallow crater, and beneath it, a hard drumming began, thick as a heartbeat. I had heard it many times before.

The pit beneath my feet was covered by a thin membrane, swirling in shades of blue ranging from cobalt to cornflower blue.

This is the third time you’ve seen color down here. If you’re this deep in the canyon, how can color exist?

The first time had been next to the waterfall inside the temple of flowers. The second time happened when I had walked through the city of Mictlán, the Heart of the City had showed me its faint purple light.
 

So there is color down here after all.

The membrane beneath me was split down the middle by a thick vein, and from where I stood, the structure that throbbed inside this pit in a snow field looked like a giant beating heart bathed in cobalt.

“ENTER,” a voice roared. It shook my body, and as the drums pounded, I felt the snow stir beneath me.

The snow slid forward and backward toward the crater, shifting as a massive being stirred under it.I noticed a soft edge in my field of vision. Nothing solid, just a hint of gray
.

But then I saw another edge of grey on my left.

The snow was turning gray. Not black. An actual gray.
 

And further below the surface of the snow, I saw tiny threads, like gossamer. They glowed.

There were pink and purple threads, and green ones, too. Some were ruby-colored, and some sparkled in colors that I had no name for.

More light radiated from the tiny rivulets, and the snow changed color again from gray to white.

The threads ran like veins on the flat ground, up the tiny hill, and down into the blue membrane.

“ENTER,” said the voice.

“But how?” I said.

“ENTER.”

The membrane grew transparent, and beneath the pit, I saw them.

The Lords were a marvel. They gave off black light just as bright as the sun’s, and it was only if I squinted that I could see their shapes in the pit. Two beings, colossal in size, flowed into each other like the roots of a tree. They were the size of a planet, faceless, smooth as glass. Inside their thousands of limbs, I saw stars thick and bright — whole constellations that knitted together to form flesh. The Lords had teeth and beaks, snouts and antennae, and I could feel how one was distinctly male, and the other female. I stared down at them from the edge of the crater.