Burning Woman and the Ghost Lance

Location unknown. Date unknown.

I barely remembered a shadow moving in the corner of my vision. I had turned to face a large man covered in dark clothing. I could not even see his eyes. More men crouched behind him in the dark. Strong arms grabbed and held me. The unmistakable smell of ether assaulted my nostrils, and then I awoke in darkness on a bed of filthy straw. The stench of urine, feces, and rotting human flesh made me nauseous – which compounded the after-effects of the ether. My stomach churned, and everything I had ever eaten in my life seemed eager to exit the way it had entered. I rolled over and vomited on the floor.

Having emptied my gastric system, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. I was still wearing my housecoat and nightclothes, which felt dirtier than I remembered. No sign of my slippers. How long had I been unconscious?

A door opened. Light blinded me and, once again, strong arms grabbed hold of me and pulled me to my feet. I was half-dragged and half-carried down a brightly lit hallway and deposited unceremoniously onto a cold stone floor.

My eyes took some time to adjust, but when I could open them without pain I saw a large, well-furnished room, decorated in the feathers-and-palm-leaf style of the Obsidian Jaguar military.

An officer in the full dress uniform of the Crocodile Marines stood over me. It was subaltern Holtlac.

“Doctor,” he said, “I am happy to see that you survived the sinking of the Sipaktlantli.”

“I can’t… say the same.” My mouth still tasted of sour vomit, and I was groggy from the ether, or I would have considered spitting in his face.

“We have much to discuss, you and I,” said Holtlac, crouching next to me on the floor. “Catching up on old times, as they say. I am curious, for example, about the manner in which you sank my ship. Also, I am very curious about your involvement with our hated enemies.”

“Well, that... is a long story...”

“Ah, that is a shame,” said Holtlac. “We do not have very much time. You see, very shortly, the priests will come to take you to the temple. You will be washed and dressed in a fine feathered robe with gold and precious jewelry. Then, you will be carried to the top of the Great Pyramid. A large crowd has already gathered, I understand. There, you will be laid out on the sacrificial slab and tied firmly. Beautiful maidens will anoint your naked breasts with scented oils and flower petals. Then, when the time is right, the high priest himself will take the sacred obsidian knife and cut out your beating, traitorous heart...”

“...and then throw my still-living body into the fire. I am familiar with the barbaric traditions that this government has resurrected to the shame of our people.”

“Well, no, actually. The fire was canceled due to heavy rain. However, your remains will be saved to be incinerated later. Today we are just cutting out your heart.” The subaltern smiled. To my disgust, his teeth had been filed to points. Sacrilege! Who would do such a thing?

“We have to obey the needs of the Gods,” he continued. “That’s what these traditions are for, after all. Surely, you must appreciate the pageantry of the occasion. It is a more memorable death than you deserve.”

“Could I take a rain-check? Oh, and my name is not Shirley. You must have mistaken me for your father.”

The crocodile smile disappeared.

“I remember your name, Doctor Tlatlasihuatl. I also remember the gallant crew of the Sipaktlantli, who gave their lives in the service of the glorious nation you have scorned.”

“What do you want?”

“You have been working for the Hundred Nations. Making weapons for them. I want to know everything you have done.”

“If you are going to kill me anyway, what incentive do I have to tell you anything?”

Holtlac laughed. Other men were in the room – some dressed as Crocodile Marines, others in lab coats or work clothes – all of them laughed as well. Then I noticed the brazier of hot coals with irons, as well as various large appliances used for torture.

Exactly as I had expected. The pain would be terrible, but I thought I could handle it until the natural opiates of my body took effect.

“I am sure we will find some way to engage your interest,” said the subaltern, standing. He gestured to the other marines. “Hook her up.”

Two of them affixed iron manacles to my wrists. They ran a heavy chain through rings on the manacles, and then through a large ring in the ceiling. Another marine pulled me up by the chain until I was hanging by my wrists in the air. My robe and nightclothes they stripped off, leaving me nude to their hungry eyes. Then, they doused me with ice cold water from a wooden bucket. The familiar smell of seawater. The cold was so painful against my skin I almost cried out, but I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of hearing me cry or scream. I was determined to take the worst they could do without giving any sign of weakness.

A technician wheeled up a small cart. On the cart was a wooden barrel with rubber-coated wires attached to metal posts at the top. At the ends of the wires were metal prods with insulated handles. The technician, wearing a rubber apron and gloves, picked up the prods and briefly touched them together. A spark gap arced across the rods, leaving the smell of ozone and a red after-image in my eyes.

This was unexpected. I began to worry about what was to come next.

“We have studied your work with electricity, Doctor,” said Holtlac. “In a way, you have inspired the creation of this device. I am curious to see the effect it has on you, though I can see you already appreciate the irony of it.” He stepped back and nodded to the technician, who stepped forward with the prods raised.

The pain was greater than anything I had ever experienced before. Violent muscles spasms shook my body and overwhelmed my brain, leaving me gasping and trembling. I screamed – how could I not? It seemed impossible that I could survive so much pain. Nevertheless, it happened again. And again.

Eventually, I began to feel the rush of natural opiate wash through my body. The pain gradually lessened until it was no more than a curious twinge. My muscles still jerked from the electrical current passing through them, but now that was only a curiosity. This was the feeling of spiritual euphoria that my dentistry patients had spoken of, so many years ago. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since then. I laughed. It was a strange sound, even to my own ears. A trembling staccato cough, as my diaphragm muscle spasms were uncontrollable.

Holtlac was also laughing as he stepped forward and looked closely into my eyes.

“What do you have to say to me now, Doctor Tlatlasihuatl?” said the subaltern.

“I... I...” I stuttered, my diaphragm still quivering. I forced myself to take a deep breath to calm the tortured muscle. I focused my will, and suddenly found my voice and resolve.

“I am the Burning Woman! Chantico, sister of fire, is my friend and ally! You can kill me, but you can never turn her against me!”

I felt the prods touch my damp skin again. Darkness fell.

Chantico danced in the night. The white silhouette of a petite young woman surrounded by a blue glow, performing the traditional fire dance of the Mexica. She danced to the sound of enormous drums. Or was it thunder? She blew a kiss in my direction.

Consciousness was slow to return. Every muscle in my body ached. I was afraid to open my eyes for fear of what I might see. I opened them anyway.

The sky was roiling with dark storm clouds. A light rain lashed my face and stung my eyes. I was wet and getting wetter. Naked from the waist up, my loins were covered only by a light cloth, and my wrists and ankles were held by heavy leather straps. A cold slab of stone pressed against my back. Spotlights lit the scene for the crowd that stood at the top of the pyramid and, I surmised, for the larger mob that filled the plaza below. An old man dressed in elaborate feathers and jewelry held a stone dagger high. The high priest wore a red jasper and black obsidian mask that covered his face as he chanted the ancient ritual invoking Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror.

Lightning flashed in the clouds overhead, with thunder following closely. I counted to determine the distance. About ten miles out, I estimated.

I tugged at the bonds, but they were firm. I twisted my head around to see. Only soldiers and priests were allowed at the top of the sacred pyramid-temple. I knew better than to beg them for mercy. In the crowd, I saw subaltern Holtlac, a satisfied smirk on his face.

My head fell back against the stone slab. The clouds grew blurry through the rain and tears in my eyes.

In a lightning flash, a dark shape moved through the gray mass of clouds. I thought in a moment of delirium that it must be Chalchiuhtlicue, the Goddess of Storms, looking down to witness my sacrifice.

I blinked rapidly, and then shook my head until my eyes cleared.

The bulbous snout of an enormous airship had broken through the heavy clouds.

I glanced quickly at the priests and warriors around me. The noise of the rain and the crowd had drowned out the sound of the engines, and the cloud cover had concealed its approach. Nobody was looking up.

I screamed at them. Shouted profanities. “Keep looking at me! Look at me! You insufferable bastards! Look at what you have become in your depravity and blood lust! We are not like this! The Mexica are not barbarians!”

I had their attention. The crowd looked eager to see my blood, though I thought I saw a few frowns among them. My words had sewn some doubt, apparently. Perhaps my death would not be wasted after all.

The high priest finished his invocation, and prepared to drive the knife into my exposed belly. There were shouts from below now, as the full length of the airship drew into view.

The obsidian blade was extremely sharp, and cut deeply into my abdomen, just below my sternum. The pain was intense, though not as bad as the electrical shocks had been. I could feel the knife cutting deeply inside me, seeking my heart.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as I felt the last moments of my life finally upon me. The rain stopped and the air was clear. I felt strangely at peace.

I saw a reddish glow run the full length of the airship, clearly visible through its thin skin, with the skeletal frame and gondola showing as black shadows against the glow. There was a hissing sound as an invisible spear burned the left shoulder of the high priest, who screamed as he fell, his feather cloak aflame in spite of being wet from the rain.

Jaguar Knights stepped forward, moving quickly with weapons drawn. The beam was flash-vaporizing wet cloth and skin, leaving a ghostly trail of live steam as it moved from one warrior to the next, pausing only long enough to sear through flesh and bone.

It was then I realized that the airship itself was blocking the rain. Its bulk created a rain-shadow that gave the LASER beam clear passage, unobstructed by the light-dispersing effect of billions of rain-drops.

I noticed that Subaltern Holtlac had drawn his revolver, but took cover behind a stone brazier as he watched his men being cut to pieces by what he must believe was magic.

Other, smaller airships broke through the clouds. They dropped paratroopers, whose white silk chutes blossomed against the dark sky.

Again and again the red glow of the charging LASER lit up the airship, as the ghost lance cut down anyone that approached the slab where I was bound, until the cloud of steam created a fog that obscured the area, and the beam could find no more targets. By that time, the crowd had learned to fear the magic spear, and those that were not fleeing down the broad stairs took shelter wherever possible on the pyramid-temple.

All but one.

“Burning Woman!” shouted Holtlac, moving through the fog cautiously, nervously glancing upward. “You did this! This is your witchcraft! Your friends may have found you, but they will only recover your corpse!”

As the subaltern leveled his weapon at my head, a paratrooper dropped through the fog and hit him boots first. The two soldiers rolled from the impact. The paratrooper shrugged the parachute harness away from his body as Holtlac scrambled to recover his weapon. He reached it while the paratrooper was still drawing his carbine. Holtlac fired twice, knocking the paratrooper backward off the platform onto the lower step of the pyramid.

As the subaltern turned his weapon back to me, I saw in his eyes the realization, too late, that the fog cloud had cleared. Struggling to hold onto consciousness as I was bleeding out, I watched the short-cropped hair on top of his head catch fire. When he looked up to see what god was responsible, the ghost lance pierced his skull through his eye sockets and boiled his brain. His head exploded with a surprisingly satisfying pop.

Other paratroopers were landing on the pyramid now. One of them cut me loose while another slapped a field dressing to my wound to stop the bleeding. There were gunshots and explosions in the distance. The LASER reached out repeatedly from the White Eagle, which was very close now. Soon it loomed directly overhead. A cable was lowered with a stretcher. Then I felt like I was floating in the air, as the airship grew larger and larger and scattered waves of wind-blown rain washed the blood away.

Lightning flashed in the distance. I started counting, but passed out before hearing the thunder.

Chantico, the little sister of fire, danced once more in the blackness. With a wave of her hand, she lit the scene below with a pale blue light to reveal an island paradise. A group of natives gathered on the beach. I knew their faces, if not all their names. I also recognized the slave that had saved my life so many years ago, and the dental patient that had died in the fire. And Amina, of course. I knew all of them. They smiled and waved to me. All of the innocent people that had died because of me were there. Strangely, they seemed to forgive me.

The little sister of fire waved again, and blackness returned. Her long straight hair hid her face, until she turned with a flourish and I could see it was Da’anammi.

I woke in a warm soft bed in a well-lit room. I was dressed in clean linen, and the air smelled fresh. Holding my hand was Da’anammi, who smiled, and made the room seem even brighter than it was.

“Good morning,” she said. She was trying to seem cheerful, but there were dark circles under her beautiful brown eyes, and I knew how worried she had been for me.

“Good morning, yourself,” I murmured. I could not help but smile back, though my chest and abdomen still ached. Breathing and talking were painful. Heavy bandages wrapped around my torso and made it difficult to bend at the waist.

“You had to go and have an adventure without me, didn’t you?

“Old friends from home,” I replied. “You know how it is. You would not have liked them.”

“How do you feel?”

“Never better,” I lied. I tried to sit up, but Da’anammi gently pushed me back into the soft mattress.

“You need to rest,” Da’anammi said. “The nurse said you were almost dead when we found you.”

“How did you find me?”

“Their fortress was known to our people, and it was the only one close enough that had a pyramid. When we realized they had taken you, it was the logical choice.”

“You know us too well.” I sighed. I suddenly felt a need to apologize. “We weren’t always like this, you know? The Mexica, we used to be peaceful, enlightened. We had learned to believe more in the power of science than the power of blood-stained gods. This… This is not us.”

“I know,” Da’anammi said calmly. “It’s politics.”

The room tilted slightly. I noticed the sound of kerosene engines, and could feel their vibrations through the bed frame.

“Are we on the airship?” I asked.

“Yes, this is the Unega Awohali,” Da’anammi said. “We are on our way home. It should only be another few hours.”

“I want to see,” I said. I was suddenly as earnest as a child. “I have never flown before! Please, help me up.”

“No!” I struggled with Da’anammi for a moment as I tried to climb out of the bed, but I was too weak to stand on my own. “Great Spirit! You are so stubborn sometimes. Here, come on. Put your arm over my shoulder. There.”

Broad-shouldered Da’anammi was always bigger and stronger than I, and easily lifted me to my feet. Carefully and slowly, she practically carried me to the bridge.

The large windows revealed a vista of mountains and pine forests. There was a river. Over there was a large lake. Clouds passed above and beside us. The view from the colossal airship was spectacular.

At the helm was a sky-warrior of the Hundred Nations. Others looked out the windows with binoculars, watching for danger. At the center of the bridge, before the helm, were the controls for the LASER. The only difference from the one in the lab was the addition of a telescopic device for aiming the beam.

We admired the view of the countryside passing below for almost an hour without speaking. When I finally said something, it was on pure impulse, the emotions of the moment.

“You saved my life,” I said.

“We both made the weapon,” she replied. “I’m just the one who got to pull the trigger.”

“Would you marry me?”

Her face shifted through a dozen or so expressions before it settled on curiosity.

“I thought we were going to wait?” she asked.

“There might not be a tomorrow,” I said, feeling more confident of my decision the more I thought about it. “I know that now. All we have is today, this moment of time. If there is a tomorrow, I want to spend it with you by my side.”

Her eyes searched mine, seeking the depth of my conviction, before she answered.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Great! Let’s go find the captain. I don’t want to wait until we land.”

She laughed, and smiled her amazing smile.