An Old Tale in a New World

by Impossible Numbers

Days 120 and 113, Part 1

Drum beats and laughter were muffled by the oak door. The Diamond Dog poked his head into the bar, creaking the hinges as he did so, and was greeted with a sudden hush.

His satchel banged against his ribcage while he slipped in. Eyes narrowed within shadowed corners and under cloaks, and he stood with one paw still gripping the frame. A fragment of copal fell off his collar and pinged on the floorboards.

The Diamond Dog coughed and sniffed.

“This is Duende Inn, yes?” he said.

Metal slid along sheaths as several shadows drew swords, daggers, and knives. Lights gleamed off steel. A few flashes and slashes met these words. Candles flickered where the blades arced by.

The Diamond Dog swallowed. Since several points were pressing against his throat, he did this with the air of one trying to tiptoe over sleeping jaguars.

With a flick of an arm, the bartender vaulted over the counter. Two fists banged against the hard nails of the floorboards, two catlike paws slinked and weaved between the cloaks and edges, and a whip of a tail scythed through the air, over his head, and ended with a meat slab of a hand gripped around a wooden hilt. One obsidian blade projected from the hilt and joined the prickle around his jugular vein.

“Earth mutts don’t come here,” said the bartender through fangs like ivory talons. The dots that were presumably his eyes narrowed at the end of his snout. “They go to the Pits. Further down the road.”

Blinking at the obsidian, the Diamond Dog lifted a claw and eased it towards the leading curve of the blade. For a moment, the claw seemed to go right through.

“We are not here for a drink, Mr Cat-Monkey, sir,” he said. “We are looking for someone.”

Nobody moved for a long while. Then, the bartender spat a puff of air at the still-lifted claw. It fell cleanly away and bounced off the satchel before tapping the wood.

“Listen, earth mutt,” said the bartender. “You can lord it however you pack of degenerates want in the dirt, but up here, we do not pretend to forget what you did. And still do. Do I make myself clear?”

The Diamond Dog’s eyes flicked from the stub of his claw and back to the blade. His eyes seemed strangely unfocused. He bared his teeth, which could have meant anything.

“No. No, you don’t make yourself clear. Quartzphere come in to find someone and go. Quartzphere never caused trouble, and yet Quartzphere get pointy sword treatment. You going to kill him for not causing trouble?”

A few swords fell back. They weren’t sheathed, but the arms, limbs, and other appendages bearing them hung limply from their masters’ sides. Out of the corner of his gaze, the bartender saw the same strangely unfocused look in their faces.

“You’re well-spoken,” he muttered, “for an illiterate dung ferret. Aping your betters, are you?”

More swords drew away from the gray fur, followed by the daggers and knives. Now the bartender, alone with the dog, could hear steps moving away and the scraping of chairs. He also noticed a slight wriggle of the satchel, and tapped it with the width of his own sword.

“Got a snack in there, I expect.”

Quartzphere stared at him. The unfocused look slid away, and a flicker of panic shot in as the pupils darted from face to face. The Diamond Dog placed a swollen paw over the strap.

“My friend says,” he said, and then paused, ear cocked as if listening to someone offstage, “that you are an Ahuitzotl priest… from the empire of… Tenochtitlan… run away from home… to defy all authority. But no worry. We keep your secret.”

Fingers seized the collar and thrust him right into the jaundiced eyes. This time, the blade was sideways, needing only one flick for instant beheading.

“What kind of trick are you playing?” hissed the bartender at his face. “What are these… lies you speak?”

“Not lies!” Quartzphere writhed and wormed his fingers around the hands on his neck. “Quartzphere sooner eat own head than lie! We run away too! We defy all authority too! Oh, and my friend says your name is Axolotl.”

With a howl, the bartender rolled backwards and threw him into the stools, scattering broken timber. Cracks fled away from Quartzphere’s back. A trickle of white juice stained the wood by his elbow.

“You soul-stealing, life-taking, scuttling, treacherous, earth-eating demon!”

Quartzphere barely had time to see the world swim back into focus before the shrieking indigo blur threw itself at him and the stabbing hand came down.

The two stared at each other, panting and wide-eyed, close enough to bite each other’s snouts. Quartzphere patted his stomach, and frowned. The bartender raised his hand. There was no sword in it. He spun round.

Hovering in the air, the black blade seemed fixed in an invisible vice, as if it had been seized and held in mid-arc. A few patrons laughed to try and break the silence. No one looked away even when it clattered on the ground and was still. Someone in a far corner coughed.

“We’re, um, looking for the Enchantress?” said Quartzphere.

Several talons, hooves, fingers, and wings pointed at a door beside the bar. Overhead, a plank hanging from two chains bore the etched words ‘Adjoining Room’. The Diamond Dog threw a hasty salute and scrambled across the wrecked stools towards it.

The bartender slunk over to the sword and lashed out with his tail. He sat back and rubbed both hands along the sides of the blade. He pointed it at the Adjoining Room sign.

“You may be in league with sorcery,” he said, trying to keep the shake out of his throat, “but mark my words; you shall not stay here. If I see so much as a dog hair in my inn ever again, I won’t bother with weapons. I’ll wring your neck and tie a knot in what’s left.”

Quartzphere tried a weak smile to the patrons around the room, but couldn’t ignore the sniggers and whisperings when he pushed his way through. He could smell fear, like a stinging pickle eating away at his nose.

“You can’t hide from your crimes forever, sacker of empires!”

The door slammed shut behind him.

It was supposed to be an extension of the bar, but the adjoining room may as well have been a tomb. There were no candles. Only a small flame crackled in the centre of the room, peeping over a ring of carefully placed bricks. Despite the flame, hairs stiffened along Quartzphere’s arms and back, and he shivered.

Benches had been shoved to the sides of the room, piled against the tables as though all the furniture had backed away from the fire and was clambering up the walls to get out. A few whispers and groans came from underneath.

Quartzphere jumped aside as a blur rushed past him screaming, and the door slammed shut again.

“Get down, mestizo!” hissed a voice beneath a bench. “If she comes back and sees you, that’s it! Callejón sin salida!”

“Who?” Quartzphere’s gaze spun around the room. “You mean Enchantress?”

The voice said nothing, unless an outbreak of whimpering counted.

Despite first glance, there was one piece of furniture in the centre of the room. A lone table, reduced to a wizened iron frame, stood over the flame. Chilli peppers – pulsing red and pale abominations that conjured hallucinations merely by being glanced at – lay along one thickened frame, half of them mashed and sliced and ground into bleeding dust. Some dark powder was heaped next to it, along with a ghostly flower. One wad of oily, oozing yellow melted on a plate, and a cup of white sparkles glinted in the reflection of Quartzphere’s eyes.

“Cerveza del diablo…” squealed a voice in the corner.

In the centre of plumes of bitter and sharp scents, wafting its heat through Quartzphere’s face and making him back off fast, was an iron cauldron wedged into the frame. He drooled and licked his lips, and then shook his head and wretched.

“Who are you?” said a feminine voice.

Gasps and whines mingled with shuffles as the patrons pretended not to exist. Despite himself, Quartzphere’s feet shifted him around, and his spine froze.

Every cell in his body gave a quiet sigh. The satchel began to slip from his shoulder, and only his paw seemed alert enough to grip it in mid-fall.

The door slammed shut, fluttering the cloak that concealed a squat, hunched form. One unicorn horn protruded from the hood, glowing crimson. It bore a silver jug in midair, also glowing like sunlit blood, and stepped over to him.

“Don’t touch that,” she said. “The peppers alone will give you nightmares.”

Quartzphere pointed a claw at her, or at least tried. It was pointing at everything else around her.

“Y-Y-You… M-Mother G-Gother… B-Bruja de la Sombra… B-Bab-ba Y-Yaga… C-Circa… The-The Enchantress! Magician of Thousand Tales, Spellcaster of Thousand Names…”

The figure glided over to the cauldron – the Diamond Dog bumped into a table jumping out of her way – and tipped the jug over it. Pale death poured out, splashing the gloop. Everything in the cauldron writhed and warped until a silken tan spread over the surface. The stench softened. It caressed noses, soothed tightened throats, and each breath felt clearer and sweeter. A few patrons leaned closer.

Quartzphere peered at the brew. It was liquid earth, molten tan, fluid auburn, rippling mahogany…

“I,” choked Quartzphere, bowing low, “have dreamed for years of m-meeting you, Enchantress… You are legend…”

The figure turned to face him. “Why thank you, Diamond Dog. Here. Would you like to try some of this?”

A ladle rose from the cauldron and poured the creeping mass into the cup of sparkles. All other ingredients glowed and arced in after it. From within the rags and cloaks, a small spoon slid out and rattled around inside the china before shooting back into the folds.

Cautiously, the Diamond Dog sniffed at the proffered cup.

“In the local language,” said the figure, “it is the xokolotl ahuitzotl, the sacred drink of the Ahuitzotl priests. They believe that at certain times in certain seasons, one drink sends their spirits to the holy realm beyond this world, and connects them to the Great God Quetzalcoatl. They say he’s in exile for bringing this divine food to the world as a gift. Trouble is… it’s like needles on the tongue. I merely had to modify it with some stuff brought over the seas by the pony tribes. Makes it sweet, not bitter.”

She filled a second cup that Quartzphere was sure hadn’t been there a moment ago. He trembled at the weight of the cup in his own hand.

The Enchantress lifted her glowing cup and chinked the two together. “I call it Hot Chocolate. Let me know if you want more milk and sugar.”

---

“You stay there and don’t make a peep. Master not finished with you yet.”

The lid slammed, and footsteps died away.

She opened her eyes and saw nothing. Mustering her energy, she pushed against the lid of the chest and didn’t wince when the harsh grey light stabbed at the dark. It was a testament to how poor they were that he hadn’t even bothered with chains and locks. Not that any of that would have stopped her, but she still ground her teeth – her new teeth – at the poorness of her prison.

Stupid beast. Make me do tricks, will you? Treat me like dirt, will you?

With a thump, the chest rolled over. Tiny legs scuttled out of it. After a few seconds, the chest righted itself and snapped its own lid shut.

A trail of grass rustled across the pampas, through the deserted village of shattered huts and vine-smothered shacks that were strewn around the clearing in a sea of green blades. Diamond Dogs patrolled the gaps between them, shaking their heads of the rain and the tedium. A few wandered close to the trail, but to their own surprise, suddenly felt the urge to turn around and trot back the way they’d come.

Everything paled next to the stepped pyramid. It was worse than a mountain: mountains wound anywhere and everywhere like the remnants of a savaged chocolate cake, smothered in snow like icing and crumbling at the touch. This pyramid was a king. It cut the flow of the landscape. Squares and angles and edges wedged into the ivy and roots trying to clamber over them. Unlike the mountains, no cloud dared go near it. Even its cap was golden like the crown of a king, and it ignored its subjects, the homes collapsing all around it, while they fought bravely against the invading rainforest that it barely noticed.

Towards the stepped pyramid, she saw the steps were stained brown. Vague memories drifted to her about what the empires used to do, but she lost interest.

Tiny hooves scampered along the limestone wall and round a corner, keeping an eye on the forest for any straining green eyes. One captive had already been caught by those things; she knocked a chunk of bone aside as she passed. ‘Those things’ didn’t give second chances.

She crept along, taking cover behind splayed spider-like plants covered in fur, and seized and uprooted one. To any onlooker, it would look like a rather ill porcupine was creeping along the foot of the pyramid. She saw the crack and glided over to it, making sure not so much as a dot of non-green colour showed through the leaves, and peered inside.

Torches were lit along the walls. A huddle of ponies whimpered and shivered in a corner, surrounded by Diamond Dogs and what looked like some dark dogs with glowing green eyes. In the corner nearest her peephole was a pile of puppets, with one Diamond Dog standing guard over them. He and the others all had copal on their collars.

In the centre of the pyramid were two creatures. One creature was a hulking biped with huge wings: a gargoyle. The other was harder to place; some kind of centaur, but with the upper half of a beefed-up baboon and thick, cleft hooves at the bottom.

They stood side-by-side, facing a circular altar in the centre of the hall.

“And yet, she was still alive,” said the gargoyle. “Interesting. I wonder if her powers helped to keep her will intact.”

“Maybe.” The centaur shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. You disposed of her, I take it?”

“Uh, of course, of course. But still, I can’t get my mind around it. Perhaps it’s not her powers that helped her. Maybe some minds are naturally robust, or maybe it’s a question of will. The possibilities are endless. If you’d just let me try out my ideas for once –”

“Stop going on about it. We found it and destroyed it. I fail to see the problem.”

“But don’t you see what this means?” The gargoyle flapped its wings agitatedly and took a step forwards. When the centaur glared down at the offending foot, he took a step back. “We can’t trust this magic anymore. We don’t know if it’s behaving as expected. And aren’t you the least bit curious about it?”

“We are not dropping this simply because you have cold feet! Have you forgotten already what these wretched beasts did to us? We were worshipped, Scorpan! Our wonderful subjects handed us sacrifices daily! We had a legacy! And then these usurpers, these ponies, these wretched thieves on their ‘ships’, came here as if they owned the place and took all that from us.”

Scorpan hit his own forehead and tried to wipe the condescension from his face. “You do remember how we acquired these empires, right?”

The Diamond Dog nearest her peephole rolled his canine eyes and threw a puppet over to the ring. Neither of the creatures seemed to notice it, even when it bounced off a cleft hoof.

Which stamped and cracked the stone slab.

“We earned our right! The Ahuitzotls practically bent themselves double to serve us. Those ponies stole theirs. Now they owe us.”

“I know, Tirek. And they will pay, blood for blood, blah blah blah. But if this means cursing our own horns, what good’s that going to do us?”

“Look, it’s perfectly simple.” Tirek kicked the puppet against the altar so it landed beside Scorpan’s talons. “What we’re doing is fine. We just keep doing it. So long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves, we can build up our power base before the ponies even know what’s been hitting them. You, Diamond Dog! Next one!”

A Diamond Dog seized a stallion and lifted it off the ground, trying to keep its thrashing limbs at arm’s length and not look at it. He stopped at the centre, holding the pony over the altar and up to the monster.

Behind her peephole, she tried to turn her head away, but sheer fascination pushed it back. After all, it was someone else this time.

Tirek’s horns glowed orange. He opened his mouth and sucked in all the air. The stallion in the centre writhed and screamed, kicking and bucking until the Diamond Dog almost let go. Orange glowed around the equine body and flew towards Tirek. Then, the victim groaned and went limp. The Diamond Dog dropped it and threw himself back, trying to wipe his paws furiously. The pony hit the round slab. It didn’t move.

A ball of orange swelled into existence between Tirek’s horns. Scorpan reached over and seized the ball, threw it into his mouth, and closed his eyes, chewing.

His wings glowed orange. He opened his mouth, roared, and a bolt of orange leaped from his throat and struck something on the ground nearby. It too glowed orange, and then dimmed.

The puppet began to shake. Then it shifted its legs into position and rose up on all fours. Its face was completely blank. It stood as if it were merely a diagram of what four-legged creatures looked like. There was no personality to the pose at all.

So that’s what usually happens, she thought. Well, I can certainly see why he’d find me more interesting.

“Sit!” shouted Scorpan, wings flaring.

The puppet sat.

She narrowed her eyes at the sight, and watched the one Diamond Dog leave, still rubbing his paws together. Interesting, that one. He seemed less convinced than the others…

Tirek rubbed his clawed hands together. “I love it when they do that. A few more tweaks, and just imagine what we could achieve with this. The chroniclers will be carving a mountain’s worth of tablets for centuries. Next!”

Another Diamond Dog reached for a pony.