His eyes had closed in that moment, so sure was he that his ‘head’ was about to be grabbed and taken away from him, that for a near minute the Horseman didn’t realize just how quiet it had gotten.

—he could still hear the echoes of thunder that wasn’t thunder, of screams—

“Huitzilopochtli.”

The word definitely didn’t sound like any sort of language he knew, though the fact that it was said at all shattered the apparent lull. Eyes opening inside his pumpkin, the rider looked at the man who had just been arguing with him, and was more than a little surprised to see the man staring at him with a look that reminded him of how some viewed some feral beast.

There was already a notion knocking about in the rider’s pumpkin head that this was probably not a good situation to be in, but it was only compounded when the man appeared to think before he came to a decision. He definitely asked a question, and the Horseman could recognize Palta’s name, but the rest of the words were utterly alien.

The rider had immediately tried to talk, to correct what was starting to feel like a grave misconception, but his voice gave a whispery wheeze of a croak before failing him entirely. He probably looked like a fairly demented puppet, jerking about as he tried to tease some form of noise from his abused vocal chords, before he gave up and just shook his head, gesturing in an attempt to explain the details.

Though the man didn’t seem to understand any better, another clear question being posited though the rider only had some idea of what was being asked. It was…his name, maybe?

It was a little confusing, hadn’t he already given the man his name, or at least the closest thing he had to one. Not that the Horseman could reiterate it a second time, his throat being in the state it was. So, in lieu of being able to say something back, he pointed to his horse, and then to himself, hoping that got the point across.

Though, instead of getting annoyed, the rider’s conversation partner instead seemed to sink into his thoughts, considering something with visible care.

But what the Horseman wasn’t expecting was for the man to gesture for the rider to follow him, his booted feet almost moving out of habit before he caught himself.

A harsh cough finally cleared the obstruction to his vocal chords, the Horseman trying to garble out a question. 

“Wh-Where, ‘re we going?”

The man turned back, face both a little annoyed and more uncomprehending of what the holdup could be. He then pointed to the Horseman, and then to a towering, ornate building just within view. It was behind a few others, though it stood tall, and clearly recognizable. One of the temples, no doubt.

“Huitzilopochtli.” The man said again, pointing to the temple. Not that the Horseman was any more comprehending, was this… Huitzilopochtli, inside the temple? Someone at the temple?

Perhaps someone who actually spoke his language, that way the Horseman could just be gone of this mad place. It also was striking the lone, ash-covered rider that he was the only one in the street that seemed to be of the mind that this was all hokum. There were a few people still milling around, and the manner in which the Horseman was being stared at, especially following his outburst, was not making him feel like he’d made friends.

A bark from the man caught the rider’s attention, his ashy shoulders jolting as he quickly fell into step behind the girl’s father, absently watching the green fabric of his clothes rippling with his movements.

Despite his attempts to plan, the Horseman dismally realized that he didn’t have any better options as they approached the temple, his planning falling somewhat to the wayside as he thought back to the notions of worship these people had. Their seeming plethora of gods, another part of this strange society that he was not so sure about. He knew that there were gods that the people worshipped but given his status as an outsider, he hadn’t really had the opportunity to take in much more than a brief, far-off look into that part of life. Though he had been here long enough to be present for some sort of celebration in the spring. For the rain, the innkeeper had said. To bring a plentiful crop.

But, for the Horseman, the day of the celebration he had been fraught with a strange sort of headiness that left him feeling off-kilter for the whole day, only for him to come hurtling back to Paititi with a cold clarity when he saw the faraway glimmer of red on the temple steps. He wasn’t sure if it was from animals or people, and secretly he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

The building itself was not that far away, his vocal chords feeling a little less tight as they approached.

Though there was a thrill of foreboding at the sight of the towering temple, he still couldn’t help but follow the man inside. He was among strangers, and there were enough people milling about that he likely couldn’t turn away and run without it turning into a problem. Even if he got on the horse, there was enough of a chance that someone in the crowd might have some kind of weapons, the last thing he wanted was for his mount to be injured.  

But, even as he crossed the threshold, the rider couldn’t help but remember that he’d never actually set foot inside one of these before. He’d gathered a little about the various rituals and sacrifices that went on here. The rider had definitely formed opinions, though upon hearing the way in which such practices were venerated, he knew it would probably be a good idea if he never spoke openly of them.

It certainly didn’t help that the entrance to the temple was enormous, and not very well lit. It felt like he was walking into the gaping maw of some great beast. The Horseman couldn’t help chancing a glance back at his horse, standing solitarily by the somewhat puny post used to tie up the animals. The equine gave a brief snort, pawing at the ground somewhat as the rider’s anxiety became apparent. Immediately the rider tried to dial back the more obvious signs of discomfort, squaring his shoulders and giving his mount a few reassuring sounds as he stepped into the shadows of the temple.

The fact that it wasn’t well lit made this twisting fear worse, the rider feeling what passed for his courage briefly warring with what might possibly be a sense of self-preservation. It felt like anything could jump out of the looming shadows, the fact that the main hallway was dotted with entrances to other corridors just adding to the anxiety. It seemed like it was positioned just so…

So that any threat could come hurtling out of the dark and cut him down…

With a barely stifled, rattling gasp, he suddenly noticed that he’d been brought to a larger, more open room. There were other people present, some of them reminding the Horseman of religious workers with how they were garbed, one man who had to be some lower-rung member of society given his shabby dress, and a gaggle of well-dressed people that appeared to be more talking between themselves and a few of the temple workers.

Even though he knew that it couldn’t have been more than a minute’s walk, it had felt like hours to get there. Despite the fact that he was trying his best to convey a certain air of respectability, of calm impassiveness, his nerves felt unquestionably on fire, twanging in him like some approximation of a heartbeat as he took one step and then another into the room proper. Thankfully, everyone else seemed to be more involved in their own business so they hardly cared about the newcomers.

Though the Horseman still walked behind the girl’s father, he tried to sneak peeks at the various ornamentations of the space, and the things that passed as furnishings. There were more carvings on the walls, though with the sparse light from torches here and there it was hard to make out every last bit. But what he could see were detailed images of multitudes of people, kneeling in praise of some befeathered figure with a headdress.

And at the back of the room was a tapestry that definitely chilled the blood, if the rider were to have any. The figure stood in the center, holding something red in its hands as wavy lines came off it, seeming to signify some sort of power. There were smaller, more stringy figures kneeling and prostrating themselves around it, though there was one deviation in a figure that lay horizontally, close to the bottom of the tapestry. This one also had the unique feature of being the only figure that was more than just a silhouette, a reddish star splayed over its chest. Which was the same color as the reddish blob that the main figure was holding, the one with the wavy lines coming off it.

There was a realization building in the Horseman’s mind, though it caused a sick swoop in whatever passed for his stomach. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the man was talking in his own language to what seemed like the people that maintained the temple, the rider’s command and understanding of the dialect not perfect but he could pick out that the man was talking about this “Huitzilopochtli”, and judging from the urgency lacing his words he’d been entirely serious about “consulting” whoever this was right away.

Though there was a part of the Horseman that seriously considered trying to slip out while the others was occupied, as maybe he could make a complete break and leave the city before he could be found, it wasn’t a certainty enough that he felt truly comfortable taking it. Still, the Horseman felt his hands wander, one to the breast pocket of his coat where he had his few trinkets, the other to the pistol and sword partially hidden under his coat, the feel of them calming the twisting, uneasy sensation that had gripped his innards.

It was enough to help him gain some mental distance, to allow him to think rationally. All he’d have to do was explain that really, he’d wanted nothing to do with the man’s daughter and was just the messenger for the unfortunate package. It seemed like a solid plan, for a time.

But that comforting solidity was nearly undone as he saw the workers he’d noticed earlier bring out a struggling calf. The poor thing was trying to get away, putting up quite the squall as it did, but the workers were stronger, dragging it to a spot close to the front of the room, a sort of raised platform that sat under the tapestry the rider had been taking in before.

Before the rider could react, or even blink it seemed like, they laid the animal down and brought a knife to its throat. Red went everywhere, the Horseman taking an instinctive step back as the calf gave a dying, wheeze of a struggle and breathed its last.

The gore of the moment was immediately subsumed by another spectacle, of a gaseous sort of light rising off the calf’s still body. The worker’s hands were in motion, the knife going to the calf’s chest and cutting out its heart, the organ being the center of the shimmering cloud easing from the animal’s physical remains.

There was something…inexorable about it. Something that called to the rider, made him want to come closer, to touch it…even as a part of him was repulsed by the notion. But it called so strong, so clear, it was almost impossible to really resist. His feet had slid forward, just a half-step, before the Horseman even realized he had moved, his hands nearly raising from his sides before he caught himself.

No, no, and no again! He was not some monster who would play with corpses! Or, or souls…

Though something in this setting clearly was the type, the Horseman feeling himself grow cold as he caught sight of a glowing red light starting to emanate from the space above the poor, mutilated calf. It was almost like something was forming, taking in the earlier noticed, shimmering light. The worker, who had moved to stand in front of the platform and the dead animal atop it, lifted the heart with clear reverence, intoning something in his own language.

It seemed like between one eyeblink and another a figure started to form out of the molten red light, fully bringing the shimmering glow into itself. But this newcomer was almost nightmarish looking, with red skin, a feathery plume, and molten glowing eyes. It was dressed like a more ornate version of what the workers were wearing.

As the being completely formed it started to move, looking first to the worker who had offered the heart and hearing what he had to say, and then glancing over to the girl’s father and hearing him, before those otherworldly eyes fixed on the Horseman.

“YOU.” A deep, thundering voice boomed, the god’s finger pointing straight at him. The rider felt whatever he had that passed for a heart stammer at the sudden attention. “COME HERE, YOUNG ONE.”

And he apparently stood gaping just a moment too long, given that the god spoke again with a bite of impatience to their tone.

“I SAID, COME HERE.”

Though there was a part of the Horseman that quailed at the idea of going anywhere near this…being, he still felt himself put one foot forward, then another, as a fleeting thought fired in his mind about how it would look, and what would happen, if he refused.

Perhaps if he tried to run he would join the unfortunate calf on the dais…

He came within only a few feet of the being, with what he hoped was plenty of space should this suddenly turn sour. If this bothered the “god”, they made no indication, simply leaning forward a little and looking at the rider, stroking their chin in an almost human-like gesture. A quick flare of that red light, the rays almost dancing around the fairly diminutive figure of the Horseman before the being spoke again.

“WHAT A STRANGE GOD YOU ARE, SO NEW AND YET WITH A POWER SO OLD…” The being’s fingers came out, briefly catching at the collar of the rider’s coat and coming away with a bit of ash, which it rubbed thoughtfully between its fingers. Though it felt like he was talking through glass, the rider still couldn’t help but answer the question. What, a god, that couldn’t be right, he wasn’t a god…was he?

“Wh-Wh’t power?”