Granuililnatonemoka's mother would die tonight.

  The doctor had come, examined her using wet towels and a strange instrument, and then made a nod that confirmed all the suspicions—incipient yet firm—of the scrawny, malnourished son.

  "I'm sorry, kid."

  And he had left through the battered door, smashed to pieces by a customer, in the middle of a freezing night under a clear, mocking moon that illuminated the poverty of the shack through the cracks where rainwater and pine foliage seeped in.

  Granuililnatonemoka approached the pale bed where his mother slept, his face contorted and a knot in his throat. Misery suddenly seemed to him like a malicious monster with the face of an insufferable child, utterly uneducated by its parents and free to do as it pleased without consequences. That monster was going to take everything he loved, like an avalanche falling from the heights of a snowy peak, laden with rocks.

  He clenched his fists, tears streaming down his cheeks. Life was hard in every sense for those not lucky enough to be born into the wealthy families of the capital. He had seen it, perhaps in the cruelest way, at an age when other children only worried about not soiling themselves. Why was life so capricious and unfair to people? He didn't know. He was far from being the Prodigy of the Twelve Thorns. He forced himself to breathe. He let frustration and remorse dissolve into the icy atmosphere of the room, for, he reminded himself, his eleven years and the filthy hut in the middle of the woods where he lived barred him from the experiences of the wise, who might have solved these problems with ease.

  He was beginning to feel it too.

  Inside his chest, a distant echo germinated—harmless at first, but persistent against the silence and peace his wounded mind craved. As he breathed, he perceived it; it was as sharp as the whistle of a blackbird singing deep within a cavern, except instead of a cavern, there were his lungs. His mother would have started to cry. He knew from experience that the final, fatal symptoms were far from occurring, but they would arrive sooner or later, just like the violence that the troublesome customer had promised to execute if his mother did not recover. He, too, would bring death. There were no reasons for hope, and yet, he was surprised to feel its last drops.

  His mother coughed.

  "Mother, don't move!"

  Granuililnatonemoka rubbed his eyes.

  "Has the doctor come?" his mother's voice was low, fragile.

  "Yes, and he said you'll recover if you keep drinking the Jilguerón decoction," Granuililnatonemoka lied, as usual.

  "Is that true, son?"

  "Yes. I told you I'd bring him."

  "Where did you get the money to pay him?" his mother grabbed his arms. "Did you steal it?"

  This time, lying was more complicated.

  "No… it was lent to me."

  His mother suspected the lie but remained silent. She was unable to scold a child trying to save her.

  "Who was it?"

  "Gilbtober."

  "He is a stingy man."

  "Remember he was in love with you?"

  "Until he found out I was… regardless, you must have accepted an unfair deal."

  Granuililnatonemoka smiled with the innocence he no longer possessed.

  "I managed to get him to lend it to me without interest."

  His mother closed her eyes and reflected. The boy's heart broke seeing her in such a deplorable state, especially because he had the feeling that for the rest of his life—long or short—he would remember her like this: ugly, haggard, pale, and atrocious, instead of the beautiful and fresh woman she had been for all those years. Tears fell again from the corners of his eyes. He closed them to suppress the sob, and upon opening them, he met his mother's pained gaze.

  She said nothing. She looked at him with deep concern, like a cat trying to save her kittens from an implacable winter, and her eyes also wept. She didn't moan or gasp. She simply covered her face in tears. Granuililnatonemoka stood paralyzed; he had never seen his mother cry, even in the moments of greatest crisis when she unjustly had to use her body to survive. The strong woman and powerful warrior of old had slowly transfigured into a figure filled with taciturn wisdom and unfathomable discourse. Granuililnatonemoka saw her. For an instant, his eyes noticed the brilliance of a superior soul, and then the boy was consoled, understanding that this image would also accompany him when she left him. He smiled truly, perhaps for the first time.

  "Give it back," his mother whispered. "I don't want you to become a thief. Don't be like your father."

  It was also the first time Granuililnatonemoka had heard her mention his father. He shifted uneasily and placed his small hands on his mother's feverish face. Her skin burned like the embers of an oven.

  "Mommy!" he wailed, foreseeing the end.

  "Thank you, child. Mama hopes you remain a careful and servile person."

  She grabbed him by the neck and, forcing him to lean down, kissed his forehead.

  "I'll be watching you from above, so behave."

  Granuililnatonemoka nodded. He wanted to tell his mother that he would be falling ill soon too, but he preferred to let her go without worries.

  "Listen, Granuili, you must go to the Temple of Fire, in Aracuya. Survive."

  She slowly withdrew her lips and fell into a peaceful sleep on the dirty pallet they called a bed—the only cotton thing they had left, as everything else had been sold. A cockroach circled the pillow and then scurried behind the pot of warm water. Granuililnatonemoka watched it mindlessly, and with a swift motion, caught it and ate it.

  His mother breathed quietly, though from her lungs emerged that atrocious whistle with every breath. Granuililnatonemoka waited for her to speak again, but apparently, sleep had overcome her. It was very late, after all, and he felt drowsy too.

  He woke up two hours later. The moon hid behind two black clouds moving parsimoniously toward the unknown land that a child like him would never see. He blinked several times before getting used to the implacable gloom; he rubbed his arms to ward off the cold and crawled toward the bed where his mother slept.

  He did not hear the whistle.

  Granuililnatonemoka froze. The blood drained to his feet, and he felt as if he were going to faint. Although he expected it, he discovered with horror what everyone does in time: no one is actually prepared for death. He clenched his fists tightly and suppressed the sobs that threatened to leave him incapacitated.

  "Mo-mother."

  But his mother's voice did not come, not even a sign of life.

  Granuililnatonemoka could not move his arms. He refused to lean in and listen for the heart imprisoned in that chest, as he usually did whenever he sensed his mother had stopped breathing. This time was different, perceptible. It seemed as if the atmosphere itself could whisper, and what it said confirmed his sorrows.

  "Death."

  "No… no."

  Finally, he collapsed onto the cold, packed-earth floor that smelled of tree bark, and brushed it with his cold lips—two cracked doors besieged by the battering rams of anguish. Without being able to explain it, he began to laugh until his diaphragm contracted: a sordid and brutal laughter that broke the forest's silence and filled it with terrifying echoes.

  "Mama!" his stomach hurt.

  With an impulse, he threw himself onto the still-warm corpse of the woman who would surely be the only one he would ever love. He tried to hold the warmth that was leaving the body with startling speed with his arms, trying to keep life welcoming his mother in its palaces. He put his ear to her breasts, soft and polished. There was nothing to be done. There remained only the empty, hollow chamber of a new member of the kingdom of dead things.

  But Granuililnatonemoka remained firmly clung to the flesh, like a mad lover who refuses to lose his beloved and pulls her from the coffin to embrace her one last time, and he imitated the reflective mask with which his mother used to endure hard times. He said nothing. He cried no more. He simply stayed there.

  Until he heard the footsteps.

  His hair stood on end. Like a bolt of lightning, he abandoned his mother's side and cornered himself in the angle between the smashed door and the kitchen. He tried to silence his breathing, but the whistle betrayed him.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The footsteps approached the door, and in an instant, the man appeared. Granuililnatonemoka recognized him. It was Gilbtober.

  He shrunk as much as he could while wondering what the blacksmith was doing at his mother's house at this time of night. It didn't seem normal. In these times, one didn't need reminding that any nocturnal presence was decidedly suspicious and to be avoided. He huddled even further into the corner. It was also likely that the doctor had run his mouth and Gilbtober was there to help, but it seemed strange that no one accompanied him, especially knowing how dangerous the night was. He decided then that he would not leave his hiding place.

  The light from the oil lantern contorted around the beams and danced over the growths on the earthy floor. Gilbtober squinted in the darkness, revealing a deep cut on his cheek. It was dripping blood.

  "Jinna?" he whispered, taking quiet steps.

  The man's massive silhouette loomed over Granuililnatonemoka like a snowy peak over a deep valley. He was, of course, of the blacksmith genotype: men with sculpted bodies that looked carved by a brilliant sculptor, making them appear polished and fibrous. Granuililnatonemoka felt fear.

  "I'm coming in," Gilbtober said, raising his voice. "They told me you were gravely ill."

  His voice was broken. It sounded just like a zither with out-of-tune strings. He was barefoot.

  "Granuili, where are you? You little brat!"

  Granuililnatonemoka was on the verge of letting out a cough. His lungs seemed to want more than anything to be discovered. He pressed his hand to his chest and squeezed hard.

  "Jinna, are you there?"

  Gilbtober lowered the lantern and shone it on the bed where his mother's corpse lay. He looked at it for a second, then looked from side to side.

  "Where is that little devil?"

  He waited a few moments, but seeing that Granuililnatonemoka did not appear, he gave up while muttering curses. Finally, with great care, he checked the corpse's pulse using his index and middle fingers. The pine needles swayed before a mysterious gust that increased the scene's tension. The seconds stretched. Pearls of sweat covered the boy's dry face. Luckily, the corner saved him from the light.

  "She's dead," Gilbtober said, breathlessly.

  He moved his hand away from the corpse and, still squatting, remained reflecting. He seemed affected.

  "I always wanted to know what you were like, Jinna," he said to the corpse. The glassy eyes and tightly sealed mouth did not move. "I wanted you to be only for me. I longed to have you, kiss you, touch you, and… penetrate you. Why did you have to sell yourself? I could have given you a home and a son who truly loved you! You only had to abandon that tiny beast that drove you to this filth! Was it so hard? Eh!"

  Suddenly, Gilbtober furiously threw the lantern against the wall, and in a fit, pulled the blanket off the corpse, revealing the naked body. The lantern shattered, and the oil spilled on the floor ignited in flames. The suddenly bright light illuminated the corner where Granuililnatonemoka was hiding, who summoned all his reserves of energy not to scream. He saw the figure of the giant man panting like a wounded bear, and in the yellowish light of the fire, he also saw his mother's naked legs and torso.

  The brightness that should have been extinguished intensified in a blink. The flames advanced up the wall, threatening to devour the dry wood structure that was the house. A panic attack filled the boy's thoughts. Until now, it hadn't occurred to him what to do when his mother died, and much less did he have any idea where that Sanctuary his mother mentioned was located. His mind filled with desperate ideas, the most predominant being the one advising him to let himself be burned alive. That way, everything would end.

  Granuililnatonemoka closed his eyes tightly and forced himself to stay focused. Though dying consoled him, a piece of him wanted to see what Gilbtober would do, and another piece wished he didn't. Fear kept him paralyzed.

  "Damn bitch, I'll take you even if you're just a used rag!"

  The flames flickered. The boy's bloodshot eyes flew wide, holding the glow of destiny. Stunned, Granuililnatonemoka watched with horror as Gilbtober lowered his pants. The image reminded him of many others where, out of curiosity, he had seen that horrific act in which his mother suffered and which he was forbidden to attend. She always ordered him to go into the forest, but the gasps inevitably drew him in, as he could not understand what caused them. However, this was different. He didn't want to see his mother endure this.

  "Hahaha."

  The erection was visible. Granuililnatonemoka once believed these men with erect penises were of another race, for no matter how hard he tried, his own member was unable to manifest the same shape. Later he understood why it happened, and, like so many other things, the mysteries a child shouldn't discover became transparent before his eyes with precocity.

  Gilbtober got on his knees. Carefully, he approached his mother's corpse like an insect about to handle precious honey, and he reached for himself, and he laughed with scorn, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply, enjoying the sensation. Granuililnatonemoka already knew what happened next. But this was different. It wasn't natural. In his wounded heart, he knew that what best described it was an aberration beyond any human description, one to stay away from, just like the nocturnal creatures.

  Too late, Granuililnatonemoka reached the conclusion that he intended to live. He was still too young to stop fearing death, even if the most ominous and inexplicable things in the universe were happening before him. However, he was bound, frozen in a godforsaken corner in front of a hungry animal that would devour him if discovered. The only thing he could do to save his mother's pride was to close his eyes violently, for childhood curiosity clamored for him to open them.

  He lacked the courage, however, to raise his hands and cover his ears. The whisper of the wind, the crackling of the flames, the chirping crickets… and the gasps. He caught it all. Dull, complaining, deep noises emerging constantly from the blacksmith's throat as if he suffered from a respiratory illness. From time to time, he heard the collision of flesh and had to control himself to avoid opening his eyes.

  He was betrayed, unfortunately, by the many times he had witnessed it. His mind had preserved the memories with clamorous clarity and now reproduced them like the reference image craftsmen used to create their masterpieces. His imagination did the rest. No matter how hard he tried, it was impossible to ignore the face the corpse would be making at that moment. He imagined it immutable, yet helpless. He felt her silent pain in his own body, and it mortified him.

  Finally, the slapping reached its most dizzying point and resulted in a loud, dry thud—like the one produced by a rock falling into a pond—which also provoked a thick grunt from Gilbtober.

  Granuililnatonemoka found himself with his eyes open, watching the end. He saw the man close his eyes with a deep and inextricable gesture of pleasure, so much so that it chilled the bones, and then he saw him bow his head with his hair hanging in front of his sweaty face. He also saw how the muscles of his buttocks contracted and how his agitated ribs swayed as his breathing stabilized. But what horrified him most was finding his mother's face. Her head had tilted, disheveling her hair, and her still-open eyes were fixed on a point. They were looking at him.

  Granuililnatonemoka let out a scream of terror and burst from his hiding place. The flames were beginning to consume the beams through which mice and scorpions were fleeing.

  "Stop right there, you bastard!"

  Granuililnatonemoka dashed through the forest, chest panting, bare feet, bare torso. Pine branches scratched his cheeks, and fallen logs battered his feet. His lead wasn't long. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he detected Gilbtober's gigantic, naked figure pursuing him relentlessly.

  His feet betrayed him. The darkness too. He didn't notice the hollow in a root, and his ankle twisted. He fell to the ground with a thud and split his lips on a smooth, round rock, perhaps covered in lichen.

  "You're dead, you son of a bitch!"

  Gilbtober appeared immediately from behind the tree and grabbed him by the ankles, making him scream. He was very strong, too much for a malnourished child who today had only tasted a fungus he had extracted from the crevice of a rock.

  Gilbtober dragged him pitilessly across the leaf-covered ground, not caring if Granuililnatonemoka's head and back struck the rocks hidden among the trees. The boy screamed and kicked, but the immutable strength of that more developed body was superior to him in every sense.

  "Let me go!"

  "So, you saw me."

  "I'll kill you!"

  And from the twisted ankle pulsed the pain, and from the burst mouth germinated the blood, and from the skull came bumps, and from the back bruises. The journey was short. Once again, Granuililnatonemoka was in front of his house. He looked at it for a second, hoping to find himself inside a nightmare, but the evidence was enlightening. The flames had already swallowed most of the frame, and only a few minutes remained before everything was consumed.

  Gilbtober did not let go.

  "No! Let me go!"

  "It's too late, little devil."

  Granuililnatonemoka screamed until he was hoarse, but the forest was deaf to his pleas, and there was nothing there that could help him. It seemed ridiculous to him that just minutes before he had wished to burn alive, for now that he witnessed the flames before him, he did not like the idea of experiencing it.

  "You should have died long ago!"

  And Gilbtober threw him with powerful force toward the bonfire. The wind whistled around him; the overcast sky watched from the unreachable heights. He landed with a dry thud in the hallway, muscles bruised and bones numb. His eyes were immediately filled with smoke and burned until tears came. The heat increased; a piece of wood fell on his right foot and scorched the skin with a foul-smelling hiss.

  Granuililnatonemoka felt the earth and began to crawl toward the exit. It was too difficult to open his eyes, so he had to do it by touch. For a moment, it occurred to him that he should say goodbye to his mother, for he hadn't done it, and whatever happened, it was better to settle that matter.

  The bed was empty.

  Granuililnatonemoka blinked, trying to hold back the tears. But there was no doubt. His mother's corpse had disappeared. Almost at the same time, he heard a piercing scream. He turned his head and looked outside the house.

  And what he saw froze him. There was a figure on top of Gilbtober, a quadrupedal creature.

  "Let me go, it hurts! Mama, mama!"

  Sharp teeth tore away chunks of flesh while strong arms kept the prey at bay, who, terrified, could do nothing to free himself. Soon, blood covered the creature's maw and Gilbtober's chest, who, despite appearing badly wounded in the neck and having his face bitten, kicked and squealed like a pig at the moment of feeling the knife. The predator took its time. It went layer by layer. It moved its head from side to side and passionately tore away the fine fibers of the blacksmith's athletic body.

  Granuililnatonemoka didn't want to believe it. He hesitated whether to stay there or keep moving. Was this the reality that awaited him? Wasn't it better to flee from it?

  But his survival instinct forced him to continue crawling, even though he already imagined what would come next and the problems such a decision would bring, not only for him but for the entire community. The truth was, he was tired.

  A burning piece of thatch fell directly on his back and tore a roar from him. Granuililnatonemoka closed his eyes and grit his teeth. He tried to roll to get it off, but he was in deplorable condition. He had never felt so ill: the pain of feeling helpless was worse than the pain itself. He had to endure it. With the pain on his shoulders, he continued moving, slowly, elbow by elbow, through earth and uncertainty, through screams and whistles, through charred flesh and dripping saliva.

  When he left the house, the clean outside air washed his eyes and triggered fits of coughing. His body recovered a bit of vitality before being prepared for a new wave of mysteries he couldn't process nor wanted to unravel. Granuililnatonemoka opened his eyes despite the tears. Nothing in the forest had changed: it remained the same indifferent being and seemed to mock him.

  Except for one anomaly.

  There was concern, anxiety, panic. Even the atmosphere perceived it and subreptitiously carried it through the branches and fallen leaves. The wind possessed a heavy, metallic smell.

  Granuililnatonemoka forced himself to ignore the signs and approached. The creature continued its task, no longer worrying about its prey, for he had surely died.

  When it heard the child, it turned only its head, like a rag doll without joints or bones, in an impossible 180-degree angle. The torso remained static, and its neck contorted, forming a kind of spiral. It was the confirmation of all suspicions. With disheveled hair, empty sockets, and a mouth covered in blood, Granuililnatonemoka's mother smiled with all her teeth and swallowed.

  "Welcome back, Mother."