“The hell you think you’re going?” Wrong question, I thought. Where the hell do I think I am? I had just stood up from a perch on a prone log. A campfire burned in the middle of the night. Around it was the remnants of carved stone and large chunks of rough hewn wood. I had been in raven form before I stood up. The act of standing transformed me from raven bird to raven-cloaked Weaver.
“Sit your black ass down. After your bullshit today, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” The speaker shifted position, filling the silence with soft rattles. I looked to my left and saw Mxtl (the closest this American English speaker can come to pronouncing Snake Dancer’s preferred name) in her beaded regalia sitting on one of the carved stones. It was not lost to me, that her current seat looked like a giant snake’s skull that was collared with large feathers. She didn’t look up at me, but was visually focused on a small handmade rattle in her hand. The shaft looked familiar.
The feathers of my cloak fluffed up in annoyed disarray. “I was supposed to be at the lair. The fuck I’m doing here?” I held the cloak tightly around me. I knew somewhere in the darkness behind me was my nahualli. She didn’t speak much, preferring physical action to lofty sounds. I knew better than to try and take flight. A prepared jaguar’s burst speed is much faster than a raven’s cold launch. She’ll be on my ass before I have even tensed to jump.
“Confronting the things you’re afraid to confront.” Mxtl shook her construct. Uneven rattles jarred me. “Speaking the things you’re afraid to talk about. You know, the usual. Being a bitch to those that can help you.” She looked up at me and smiled. Her headdress shook gently at the motion. My eye twitched in annoyance. “Now sit the fuck down.” She never stopped smiling.
I sat and heard a satisfied purring immediately behind me. “I’ve already spoken, far too much I think. I have some posts to remove in the morning. Last thing I need is for someone to panic and call the police on my ass.”
She turned back to the rattle and began pulling on the twine holding the rattles in place. “No one will. You demonstrated you were mostly back in your right mind before logging off for the night. And, frankly, they’re used to your outbursts by now. No one will panic, they’re too busy playing Psycho Bingo with your words.” She spoke evenly, without concern for how her words stabbed me. She shook the rattle in test again and furrowed her brow, finding the sound still unsatisfactory. “Your outbursts are predictable. There’s an explosion, then you realize you’ve chased off those you really needed to shut the fuck up and listen to, then there’s the self-loathing, then the despair sinks in and the realization that nothing in your personal life has changed since the last time this happened, then the scramble to find some justification for continuing to bleed words, then someone dares to approach the erupting volcano, then you stab yourself with more words to show that someone that you’re “okay”, and “just bitching”. Except that someone knows you’re full of shit and calls you out for it. So now you’ve run out of fuel. You’re still hurting and starting to realize while you don’t have a mark on you, those exposed to you are looking at you in horror, reinforcing your self-hammered identity as a Monster In Human Form and making sure you don’t reach out to anyone because, by golly, haven’t you started enough shit already! So now you’re considering just walling yourself up because even you have recognized the merry-go-round by now, and just turning your face to the wall and trying to kill off every last good thing you have left because the price of your existence weighs too damn heavy on your sensitive and delicate soul and what the fuck have you ever done that is good in the world except bear a child you can barely support and be free entertainment to the racists and the misogynists and the bullies and the entitled fucks of depravity that passes for humanity and why can’t you just blow the planet up while you’re at it.”
She shook the rattle and smiled at me again. I judged if I would be able to cross the space fast enough to get a sucker punch in before the Jaguar behind me could throw my ass into the ground.
“But when you wake up, and check your Tumblr, and check your email, you’re going to have the justification you need to continue going online. And you’ll swallow your pride that you’re choking on even now. And you’ll realize that there is no great plan. And you’ll realize you are not like other people. Hopefully you’ll realize that no one is like other people. And you’ll pretend you have something akin to humility, post some self-deprecating remarks, and proceed with the usual plan of trying to hustle up a better job while continuing to spend the Erinyes gift card that your mother bought with her cruelty.”
Mxtl smiled, but there was no mirth in her face. “Knock the shit off. You’re getting better at not falling into the routine, but once you do, you’re still shit for bringing it to a halt. You’re addicted to rage and adrenaline. Control yourself, or you will continue to be controlled.” Her smile did not change, but the sudden flood of mirth to her eyes was unsettling. “Unclench your fists, dear. The Tliltic Ocelotl is not going to hold you back. Neither will I. But remember everything has a price, dear. And your jaw will pay if you follow through with the heat in your eyes.”
I didn’t realize my fists were clenched, but there they were, digging raven talons into the palms of my hands. I was angry. Very livid. I felt just as powerless before Mxtl as I do before my mother, as I do before my current circumstances, as I do before the NSA. I’m listening to someone else tell my narrative, my story, my life, and the ending is once again completely out of my hands. All I have left is rage. Everything else has been abused to the point where I can not trust it. Not love, not friendship, not compassion, not my sense of self, not my knowledge, not my understanding, not my body, not my appearance, none of the things that I see other people taking solace in are available to me in security. All I have left is rage. And the fire of it. And even that is manipulable.
Despair made my hands impotent and weakened my knees. I slumped back on the log, sitting as the mostly human thing I am. My Shadow snuggled against my back, her purring loosening what muscles were still tensed. “No fair. Cats have an unnatural advantage with purring already. An anthropomorphic cat has double the advantage.”
Black furred arms reached around me and held me close. “Shut up and allow yourself to be held.”, commanded Mxtl. Yes, Master., was my sour thought.
The punch to my jaw that followed the thought should have thrown me into the fire, but Tliltic Ocelotl’s grip was firm. I only cracked my neck as my head whipped violently to the right. I physically recovered from the blow nearly immediately. My Shadow’s grip was stronger than my resolve to break Mxtl into a multitude of shattered rattles. My voice was distant as I tried to break free of the black jaguar woman’s grip. But all I could do was roar incoherently and struggle vainly to even lean forward.
Mxtl waited until the rage had passed and reason returned to my face. My jaw was sore from the impact and I was greatly confused about her motives. “Learn to control your rage, learn to control yourself, or you will be nothing more than a pawn for others to use. Once you fall into the routine, you become predictable. Yes, your circumstances are shit, but you will not be able to lock yourself away from everyone and everything. You talk about being dead in a living tomb, what the hell do you think you’re doing now? Your mother killed you, but you of all people know the dead doesn’t always remain dead. If you become just another cog in someone’s machine, then you are useless.”
I hurt. Physically and emotionally. “Mxtl. I’m out of time.”
“You keep saying that.”
“And everyone keeps acting like I have decades.”
“You potentially do.”
“And every time I dare to put hope in that, I am forcibly reminded that I don’t. Every time I dare to live, I’m killed again. And I’m just a little bit tired of this shit. Kill me and let me stay fucking dead!” I tried to stand but Tliltic Ocelotl’s grip restrained me with minimal effort from her.
“Can’t do that.”
“Why!”
Mxtl sat back on the feathered snake skull stone. “The answer is in your inbox.”
I had ran out of rage, out of words, and out of resistance. I slumped in the still purring woman’s embrace. I sat there for a long time. I barely noticed the stars moved overhead in impossible motions. The fire emanated heat but was restoring the wood instead of burning it. Mxtl continued tinkering with the small rattle. Tliltic never released her grip, but she never stopped purring, either. The woman nuzzled against my back, occasionally rubbing her face against my cloak in that distinctive marking action that all cats show to those they own. The night continued on with my gentle captivity.
“Now that we have the easy part worked out, time for the harder questions.” Mxtl started shaking the hand rattle gently. “Why does this place disturb you?”
I yawned, stretching my sore jaw. “I’m not Nahua. The stone you’re sitting on, the woman holding me, your regalia, your name, and what you called her are not my culture to take from.”
“But you have a Nahua ancestor.”
“If the birth records are telling the truth, I have some Mayan and Olmec markers in my DNA as well, doesn’t make me a native. Besides, I have more Carib markers than Nahua.”
“Speaking of… Su espirito.”
“What of kir?”
“You do realize the Baraja Española is European in origin? Right?” Mxtl was smirking.
“It was. But the spanish communities in the Americas have taken it over and… “ My mind raced past the immediate point of contention and saw where the two lines of questions were converging to.
“And… what?”
“… And synchrenized it to their own needs. Since the Roman Catholic Church pretty much made tarot impossible to use and playing cards were ubiquitous, the cards became the folk divination tool of choice. You could hide it in plain sight and such.”
“But, it’s European. Look at the name. ‘Baraja Española’ literally means ‘Spaniard deck’, as in Castilian Spanish.”
“Yea. So?”
“They don’t have the right to use it.”
“Define they.”
“The Conquered.”
I sighed. “Get to the fucking point, Mxtl.”
“Tell me about Margaret.”
“You know about her. You know what I know. And probably know more than you’re willing to consciously tell me.”
“Okay.” She continued gently shaking the rattle. The sound was soothing my irritation despite my desire to hold on to it for focus. “I’ll get to the part you don’t consciously know, then. Or rather, I’ll lay out the puzzle pieces, and I’ll leave it up to you to put them together.”
“You drink at Rummer John’s table. But you send gifts to a Chinese mob boss. The sands of the Middle East whisper your name. But the savannas of sub-Sahara Africa keep your footprints. There is a river in Germany that remembers you. But your smile has taken you far in Japan. Everyone knows you are mixed blood, yet those with eyes to see can not place you. No book holds the guide to your path. But the worlds are open to you. The ground around your well is cracked and broken. …”
“Finish that saying, and Tliltic Ocelotl is going to be put to the fucking test.”
Mxtl smiled, a genuine smile. “It’s the key to your future, to the potential decades you say you don’t have.”
“It’s bullshit, Mxtl. It’s bullshit and a distraction and wishful thinking and a fucking fairytale. There is nothing special about me. We both know that.”
The rattling stopped. The silence squeezed me tighter than my Shadow ever did. I swallowed nervously.
“We do?” Her tone indicated she believed the opposite of what she said.
“Yea. We do.” I held my resolve.
“The ground around your well is cracked and broken. But the well is full. What are you drawing from?” Such a patient teacher she is. Such a recalcitrant student am I.
“Mxtl…”
“What are you drawing your water and your stories and your power from?” She smiled. She knew the answer. She wanted me to say it clearly.
“Mxtl… it’s means nothing… I’m nothing…” Hot tears stole the moisture from my mouth.
Mxtl came and stood before me, her regalia tinkling softly with her serpentine movements. “What is the name of your well, Weaver?”
I knew she would not relent until she heard it from my lips. I closed my eyes and betrayed myself. “The Well of All Things.”
“You have time.”
Tliltic Ocelotl released me suddenly. She leaned fully against my back but didn’t embrace me again. Mxtl handed me the rattle she was working on. I recognized the handle of the rattle as being a particular piece of wood I was holding on to.
“If your hands get bored…”
“If I have time, you mean. Which I don’t. You know how many physical projects I have started and have been unable to complete? I don’t know what hurts more, that I don’t have the solitude necessary to take care of my own shit, or the amount of money I have spent chasing projects that never had a chance in hell.”
“So, complete them.”
I looked at Mxtl, held her gaze, and threw the rattle in the fire. “Complete them you say, assuming I don’t have family in my shit about this devil shit I’m doing. And then what? When am I going to have the time and the space to actually use a noisemaker like a rattle when I can’t even take a shit in peace without my mother barging in because fuck you, this is her house and her eavesdropping is more important than me. Everything I make with my hands, she tries to take. This is a nice world you live in, Mxtl. Free of monetary and time restrictions, you can leave your shit out without some nutter burning your books, and you can make all the tchotchkes you want. Real nice.”
She looked behind her at the rattle that did not burn. She looked at me and smiled. “Turn your hands over.”
“Why.”
“Because I’m asking.”
I shrugged and turned my hands palm up. The rattle was back in my hand once more. It was warm from the fire, but unburnt. I cried to see it.
“Everyone thinks I’m some great bruja, a realm-traveler that can do so much. I have people saying they are afraid to write to me for fear if they inadvertently offend me I’m going to turn their gonads inside out. The entities I know, the things that I can do for other people, the powers I can summon and command, it’s useless to me! I can’t save myself, Mxtl! I can affect everyone’s life but mine, and what use is that to me? I make a rattle, and then what? I don’t even know how to make this. You know how obsessive I get when making something, it has to be fucking perfect or I can’t follow through. Why the fuck you think I have a drawer of shit I never completed? I can’t even finish the last knitting project because thirty-six goddamn stitches are frustrating the fuck out of me. I can help everyone but myself, Mxtl.” I threw the rattle back into the fire. “And I’ve run out of time.”
Mxtl reached down and turned my hand over. The rattle returned to it, freshly warm. “Well, you’re here now. Practice here.” I stare at the warm rattle. Some of the noise makers are broken seashells, some are fragments of seed shells, some are pieces of random debris tied in a descending spiral along the shaft. A rattle of found objects. One I would never be able to duplicate.
I shoved the rattle roughly into her hand and stood up quickly causing Tliltic to fall over. I noted we were the same height. I walked over to the right where I had seen some hollow logs. “The rattle is your instrument. The drum is mine.” I thumped on the hollow logs until I found one which sound settled me somewhat. I didn’t wait for her to start playing, but just started playing out rhythms.
I had tired of words, and had too many thoughts weighing on me. I decided to speak no more with my voice, and allowed the percussion to fill the space instead. I didn’t notice when Mxtl had started shaking the rattle again. I didn’t have to look up to know she was prancing at the fire. Her regalia was sounding different from the hand rattle, a distinction she was using to full advantage.
Across the fire, Tliltic Ocelotl was stretched out along the length of the prone log. The black jaguar skin was draped loosely over her naked body. She said nothing, but her eyes shown with unnatural light.
The stars turned in the unceasing night sky, moving in strange and impossible orbits. The drum and the rattle spoke. The fire restored the wood it danced on. Just as it felt it would remain as such forever, time ran out.
I woke up.