Itzcoatl sat at the table surrounded by the Lechites. They admired him, though he wasn't sure it was deserved. The sunlight stabbed at his eyes, his mouth felt like dry wood, every sound thudded like a huehuetl drum, his stomach churned, and the rest of his body was sore, chilled, and tense. He could barely move. In short, he had a brutal hangover.
"I get hooking up with one girl during the Spring Rites, but four? Not bad."
"Four? Seriously?"
"Four at once. In one go."
"Gotta admit—respect. Even Zadrzykiecka couldn't pull that off."
Itzcoatl didn't feel flattered. At best, he felt foolish. He couldn't remember anything from the start of the feast until waking up. Maybe that was for the best…
Suddenly he remembered something.
"Citalli…"
Someone clapped him on the back.
"Don't worry. We've already handled it. Mościwół is delivering the message."
Just then, someone burst into the room, pale as a wall.
"Mościwół?! What happened?"
Itzcoatl immediately guessed.
"Citalli?"
The man nodded.
"She said you have until noon to pull yourself together, and no dumb excuses will help."
Everyone stared at him.
"What did you tell her?"
"That our guest is sick and overworked."
A few people snorted with laughter.
"I don't know about you, but that sounds like a textbook hangover to me."
Mościwół wasn't amused.
"That woman is terrifying."
Itzcoatl understood. He knew the power of Citalli's anger.
"Be glad you didn't meet her six months ago. She was even scarier."
Mościwół looked doubtful. Someone handed him a cup. He downed it in one gulp, and color began to return to his face. A serving girl entered, carrying a big pot.
"Chicken broth."
The Lechites lifted their hands with a cheer. Itzcoatl asked the boy seated beside him,
"Chicken broth? What's that?"
"You'll see. You'll like it. Nothing cures a hangover like a good broth. Well, there's also sourberry juice, but it doesn't compare."
Itzcoatl eyed his portion. He knew thick soups well, but this one was clear, with pieces of vegetables, some herbs, and those grains they called kasza.
It tasted different from what he knew, but he had to admit they were right. A pleasant warmth spread through his body, and the soup gave him strength. When he finished, he already felt better.
"So actually, what's with that Tla… Tla… Tlacin?"
He looked at them, puzzled.
"You kept saying it drunk at the feast. Total gibberish."
Everyone nodded.
"Tlacotzin. He's my friend. He died six months ago."
He told them how Tlacotzin had saved his life, about the life he'd led, how he became an acolyte and then a guardian spirit. He didn't mention his promise, but the Lechites figured it out anyway.
The mood darkened.
"Just like Dziewanna," one began, and another shushed him. Before Itzcoatl could ask what they meant, someone stopped him and said he'd learn later.
Silence fell for a moment—until someone shouted,
"A witch!" Everyone turned to him, some scandalized. "If you've got a problem, you go to the witch."
A murmur of understanding rippled through the room.
"Not bad."
"Not so fast. She lives deep in the forest. We don't have time."
The man who'd had the idea laughed.
"Forgot today's a sabbath? She should be here any moment."
Someone went to the window.
"You're right—she's coming now."
Itzcoatl looked out and was struck dumb. A cottage was walking out of the forest. Literally walking. On turkey legs. He simply couldn't believe it. Someone patted his shoulder.
"My mother says, 'magic is magic, and that's that.'"
Itzcoatl was sure no one back home would believe him. He stood before a house that looked like an ordinary Lechite cottage—though a moment ago it had been striding about on turkey legs. Above it hovered a cloud of ravens. Something was off about their eyes; they seemed to track their every move. His companions weren't surprised. Before one of them could knock, a young girl opened the door. Itzcoatl felt his hangover returning. She was one of the four he'd slept with. She even smiled at him.
"What do you seek?" She suddenly made a face like she'd realized something and turned to Itzcoatl. "Don't worry. I gave our whole foursome an infusion. You don't have to fret about any of us being in the family way."
Itzcoatl felt foolish again, but a friend rescued him.
"Our guest isn't here for that. We need Baba Yaga's help."
The girl looked surprised for a moment, but their expressions told her it was important. She let them in. They walked down corridors for a long while—far too long for a cottage of this size. Itzcoatl figured it was for the same reason the house could walk on turkey legs. The air was full of the scent of herbs and things he couldn't identify.
At last they reached a chamber where an old, wrinkled woman sat on a carved wooden seat. Her eyes held a wisdom and an age that seemed beyond mortal reach.
"Welcome. Our guest who arrived yesterday has a problem?"
They all stared, astonished. Ravens perched in the corners croaked,
"My friends are always watching and listening."
Itzcoatl felt a tremor. This was no ordinary woman.
"So…" She looked at him and sighed. "I see it's serious. Come closer and speak."
Itzcoatl stood before the witch, the Lechites half a step behind. He told her everything—from the day Tlacotzin saved him to his selection as a sacrifice and the vow he had made. The witch fell silent in thought.
"Hard… very hard… There is little I can do. This is a road you must walk alone. Many trials await you."
For a moment, Itzcoatl felt overwhelmed.
"I can't tell you what to do—that you must discover yourself—but I can cast the bones and lift the veil of fate a little. Do you wish it?"
"Yes, please."
"There's only one question—how will you repay me?"
Before Itzcoatl could answer, the Lechites set three items before Baba Yaga: a small cask, a basket, and a sack. Now he understood why they'd stopped on the way.
"Oh, that will do nicely."
The witch signaled to her apprentices, who set a small table before her, covered it with an embroidered cloth, and placed a large metal bowl atop it.
Baba Yaga rose from her throne. A raven brought her a pouch. She plunged her hands in and drew out bones. She spoke words in a language unknown to Itzcoatl, but he could feel their power. Wind stirred in the chamber despite closed windows, and the candles' flames danced wildly.
Finally, the witch cast the bones into the bowl.
"An intriguing reading… intriguing…"
She pointed to the bones farthest left.
"Two crossed bones, with a jawbone resting on one… There were two of you, bound by fate and a life-debt. He left you a task."
Itzcoatl nodded. He assumed she meant Tlacotzin and himself.
"Next. A long bone travels toward the crossed pair, which cracked upon impact. That signifies an approaching battle." The witch furrowed her brow. "But I cannot tell with whom or for what. Someone is blocking my magic."
The Lechites seemed shaken, but the witch silenced them with a gesture. Itzcoatl was surprised.
"Is that so strange?"
"Not strange—nearly impossible," she said. "No mortal can influence a divination, let alone block it."
Itzcoatl swallowed.
"Only a powerful demon—or a god—can meddle with my spells. He tried very hard to hide, but that one bone gives him away."
She indicated a bone at the very rim of the bowl. It was smeared with soot—though Itzcoatl could have sworn none of the bones were sooty when she threw them.
"I cannot say who he is, but I know he is exceedingly malicious and cloaks himself in coils of black smoke."
The witch sighed.
"That is all. I see no more."
She began gathering the bones.
"At this moment, I can give you only one piece of wisdom."
Itzcoatl leaned in.
"The future can wound us only one way—by making us worry."
The witch stood.
"Come. They're waiting for us at Medogost's hall."
They set off, while Itzcoatl still wrestled with his thoughts. He didn't know how to approach any of this. As they walked to the meeting, he suddenly noticed something at his feet—a feather. When he picked it up, he saw one side banded in blue-black stripes.
"You've found a jay's feather. It symbolizes vigilance, courage, communication, and resourcefulness. Who knows—perhaps those are precisely the traits you'll need."