| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by Mitch Allen / Artwork by Marge Simon |
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| Demons of the Dark Sun |
Coyotl the Chichimec aimed his arrow at the Jaguar Knight leading the Aztec troops up the trail below the
sacred mountain of the Obsidian Butterfly. Coyotl was a small, wiry, young man, possessed of great
endurance. Yet he was weary from a long march under the full moon. He had eaten nothing except a
handful of sacred chia seeds mixed with water. The chill of the night had given way to the scorching heat
of the day. Coyotl knelt very still amidst the prickly pear and the knifelike rocks. He had a mesquite thorn
lodged deep in his heel. But he would not rush his shot. Chichimec warriors practiced patience whether
they were stalking deer or men.
If the arrow missed, Coyotl had his obsidian-tipped spear and war-club at hand. Even more important
than his weapons were Coyotl’s older cousins, One Feather and Wolf. Wolf was a respected warrior and
One Feather was the leader of the war-party. They were also Coyotl’s closest friends, more like his
brothers than cousins. People preferred to avoid Coyotl, a strange young man named for the trickster
coyote.
These three were the twig propping open the trap for the Aztecs. When they attacked the head of the
Aztec column, ten more Chichimec warriors would attack the Aztecs from behind. Only a leader who had
strong spirits protecting him could survive such an ambush.
“Remember the blood of our kinsmen, shed on Aztec altars,” One Feather whispered. The Chichimecs
and Aztecs were old enemies, but the latest war had erupted with intense savagery. Aztec troops had
scoured Chichimec country for captives to cut out their hearts and appease their hungry gods. The
northern tribes, ever ready for war, had retaliated and the borderland became a wasteland of blood and
flame. Neutral Mixtec traders brought rumors that the Aztecs had been driven to their frenzy of
bloodletting by dread prophecies that spoke of the death of the sun itself.
Whether or not the sun is doomed, Coyotl thought, this Aztec will not live to see it. He could see the
man clearly in his suit of jaguar skin and the spray of green feathers on his head. Coyotl pulled back his
bowstring. One Feather loosed an arrow and an Aztec soldier dropped. Coyotl shot, but the Jaguar
Knight suddenly ducked and flung up his skull-emblazoned shield. This man has strong spirits with him,
Coyotl thought.
As the Aztecs fell back from the ambush, there were shouts from the rear of the column. The second
part of the ambush had begun. Coyotl shot again, picking his target. An Aztec clawed at the arrow in his
eye. The other soldiers milled as the Jaguar Knight shouted commands. Suddenly they charged up the
slope toward Coyotl and his cousins.
“Crap!” One Feather cried. “This Aztec is too clever!” He raised his spear.
Coyotl shot again, too fast and he missed. The Jaguar Knight was bounding up the slope, waving his
macuahuitl, the massive club set with razor-sharp obsidian blades. Coyotl slipped his bow over his
shoulder and snatched up his spear just in time to meet a rushing Aztec. The Aztec slashed with his
heavy lance. Coyotl dodged and thrust the man through the throat just above his padded armor,
praying for his victim’s forgiveness as he killed the man.
Coyotl heard a whirring sound and Wolf gave a cry. A javelin, flung by an atl-atl, had impaled his chest.
There were Aztec soldiers all around. Coyotl thrust one down the slope with his spear. One Feather cried,
“Run! Save yourself!” Suddenly the Jaguar Knight was on him. One Feather stabbed with his spear but
the Jaguar Knight cut him down with ease.
Coyotl felt bile in his throat. There was nothing he could do, except flee or die.
Too few, though Coyotl. We are too few to hold the Aztecs. Not many had answered One Feather’s call.
Men preferred to avoid the company of Coyotl and not even his cousin’s prestige could alter that.
He ran up the mountain, slipping through the scrub with the ease of his namesake. But the Aztecs came
on. Coyotl scrambled over a boulder and glimpsed the battle still raging in the rear. A javelin whipped
past his head. Coyotl popped up from the boulder with his bow. He shot down an Aztec and ran on.
Coyotl planned to circle back and join his tribesmen. But every time he tried the Aztecs cut him off.
Coyotl took refuge in a cactus thicket, panting in the scorching heat. The Jaguar Knight cried out from
down the slope, “Chichimec dog, I am Ocelotl of the Jaguar Knights! No matter how fast you run, I will
follow and drag you back by the hair to see your heart given to the gods!”
Coyotl shot and the Aztec next to Ocelotl fell with an arrow through his thigh. Then Coyotl was running
again. He leapt down a slope of broken rock and lost sight of the Aztecs.
Suddenly there was a hot wind and a strange shadow on the land. Coyotl paused, his intent brown eyes
scanned the slopes. There was no sound save the groaning wind, which bore a stench of death. Coyotl
thought of the tales of ghosts that haunted the barren mountain peaks. He remembered how the
women had blessed the Chichimec warriors with sacred pine-smoke, but voiced their trepidation, “If you
walk in the shadow of the Dark Mother, only the coyote will walk out again.” He was alone atop the
mountain sacred to the Obsidian Butterfly, the Dark Mother and Demon-Queen of the Outer Dark.
Something moved in the corner of his vision. Coyotl whirled to face it, spear ready, but there was
nothing there.
Suddenly he heard voices. Coyotl knelt behind a juniper bush and glimpsed Ocelotl and one other Aztec
soldier making their way up the mountainside. Coyotl glanced about, looking for a place to make a stand.
Behind him and to his left was a cliff that ended in a ledge at about three times the height of a man.
Coyotl flung his spear up to the ledge and scrambled up the rocks projecting from the cliff. Just as he
concealed himself behind a boulder, Coyotl heard the Aztecs below him. Cautiously he peered over.
“Here are the Chichimec’s footprints.” The soldier pointed to the foot of the cliff. As Coyotl leaned closer
to spy on the Aztecs he felt the boulder rock unsteadily. Abandoning caution Coyotl levered at it with the
butt of his spear. An arrow flew up from below. There was a grinding noise and the boulder went over.
Coyotl heard a cry and a crash. He glanced over. The soldier was sliding down the slope, with a crushed
skull. The Jaguar Knight was down too, groaning in pain from a glancing blow.
Coyotl leapt down the cliff, landing with the grace of his namesake. Ocelotl lay on his back trying to rise.
He had dropped his macuahuitl. Coyotl put his spear-point at the Aztec’s throat. “You are a brave
warrior. When my women sing of my triumphs they will say how I slew you on the mountain of the
Obsidian Butterfly.”
“There will be no more triumphs or anything else,” Ocelotl said. “The Demons of the Dark Sun are at
hand.”
As if in reply to Ocelotl’s words the shadow on the land grew deeper. Again Coyotl smelled death. He saw
a shadow before him that wavered indistinctly. Then it coalesced into a vision of death. The thing was a
corpse, tatters of rotting flesh barely covering a skeleton. It stalked towards Coyotl, stretching forth
claw-like fingers. A rattlesnake darted from the hollows of its belly, hissing in anger. It wore a woman’s
festive headdress and a necklace of human hearts.
Coyotl stood paralyzed with fear as it approached. The darkest whispers of the elders’ tales walked the
earth in corrupt flesh, lusting for blood. A thought raced through Coyotl’s mind, How can you slay what
is already dead? The demon snapped its teeth hungrily.
Without warning, Ocelotl gave a war-whoop. He was on his feet, swinging his macuahuitl at the demon.
The demon recoiled as the obsidian blades slashed it. But the demon was fierce and it raked open Ocelotl’
s jaguar-skin armor with its claws.
The violence broke the trance holding Coyotl. He lunged with the spear, the obsidian tip swung past
Ocelotl’s back and buried itself deep in the demon’s snake-filled belly. The snake writhed on the spear-
tip. The demon struggled to free itself, but Ocelotl sheared off its skull with a flick of his macuahuitl. The
demon collapsed, dead in reality as in form.
Ocelotl leaned wearily on his weapon. “This is what we feared. I heard the prophecies, now I know they
are true.”
Coyotl stared at the fallen demon. “Has Mictlan opened up? Have the dead come again to drag down the
living?”
Ocelotl pointed to the sun, suddenly grown dim. “The Obsidian Butterfly dances in the Outer Dark,
hungering for the blood of men. Yet the sun holds her back. The priests say that at certain cycles her
demons have the power to devour the sun. Then they may pour forth and spill blood in the world of
men.”
“Blood-spilling demons?” Coyotl said. “That is how the people of Chichimec name the Aztecs!” He
pressed the spear into Ocelotl’s side. “Drop your weapon.”
Ocelotl growled, an animal sound. But he let fall the macuahuitl. “In the ancient books of the Toltecs
there is wisdom, too deep for the clods of Chichimec. The high priests of Tenochitlan found a prophecy
that in this cycle the demons would devour the sun for once and all. Only great sacrifice will appease the
gods and restore the sun.” Ocelotl made a choking sound.
“We cut out the hearts of all the condemned criminals, then we began on slaves. The Tlatoani, Lord-
Speaker of the Aztecs, decreed the army go forth and bring back captives, that their hearts should pay
our debt to the gods. Still the demons drew closer to the sun. So we began to sacrifice our own.
Common folk and nobles, priest and soldiers offered up their blood and the blood of their children. It is
the only thing that will stop a worse fate, the destruction of all when the sun is blotted out.”
“It is well that the Aztecs offer up their own as sacrifices.” Coyotl smiled, showing his sharply pointed
canines. “We in Chichimec will think well of them for their efforts on our behalf.” Coyotl glanced at the
sun, already growing darker. Despite his sneering, he knew Ocelotl spoke truly. The Demons of the Dark
Sun walked among men and where they passed no man would remain living.
“We are on the mountain of the Obsidian Butterfly herself,” Ocelotl said.
“The Dark Mother who devours her young,” Coyotl replied.
“A sacrifice here would have great power in appeasing her hunger.” Coyotl glanced about the
mountainside. He thought of his comrades down the hillside. “Where are the rest of your men?” he said
to Ocelotl.
“The rearguard was under my brother. They were holding off your Chichimecs.” Ocelotl pointed down the
mountain.
Coyotl turned his head to look at the same moment he realized it was a mistake. He turned back just as
Ocelotl pulled a stone knife from a hidden pocket in his jaguar skin.
Ocelotl lunged at Coyotl. “Dark Mother! Accept this sacrifice!” The Aztec was on Coyotl before he could
bring his spear to bear. Coyotl dropped the weapon and grappled with Ocelotl. Coyotl grabbed the Aztec’
s wrist trying to force back the knife that moved inexorably towards his heart. Both men strained every
muscle, sweat beading on their skins in the stifling hot air.
Then Ocelotl shifted, trying to get better footing. Coyotl felt his opponent begin to slide on the uneven
ground. Suddenly both men toppled over. Coyotl rolled down the slope, brambles tearing and stones
pummeling him. Then he gained his feet and began to run.
“Run you dog!” Ocelotl shouted. “The demons will find you too! They’ll find us all! It is the end!”
Panting, Coyotl ran down the mountain like a hunted dog. The shadow in the sky deepened and the
landscape grew strange. Rattlesnakes hissed mockery from their hiding places below the cactus. The
mountain stones seemed to cry out, “Flee weak thing of flesh! You must die, while we sit eternal
watching your futile struggles!”
Coyotl’s breath came in great sobs. The desert air was stifling, hot and nauseating. Coyotl paused, he
saw a movement in the brush. He pulled his war-club from his quiver and hefted it. There was a cry of a
hawk and Coyotl relaxed. He gave a wolf-howl. Chichimec warriors emerged from the brush.
“Coyotl!” they cried “We thought you dead! The Aztecs held firm, hey but they are fierce fighters! Where
are One Feather and Wolf?”
Coyotl nodded his head. “I saw them fall.
“They are dead?” a warrior snarled. “And you ran off like a cowardly coyote. The women were right, you
shouldn’t be trusted. Go find your own pack!”
“More will fall soon for I have seen the form of Death itself!” Coyotl gasped out his tale. The Chichimecs
listened and when Coyotl concluded an elder warrior said, “Let us go back to our country. The curses of
the Aztecs will fall on their heads because of their wickedness and none may save them.”
The Chichimecs started off. But the shadow had grown deep. Images of blood, death, and decay
crowded Coyotl’s thoughts. Time seemed to distort and all the world was corrupt.
Then the demons were on them. A Chichimec fell to a fiend that clawed out his throat. Another warrior
was torn apart by two demons that shrieked and fought over his remains. Coyotl smashed in the skull of
a rotting fiend. He snapped the bony back of a demon that was engaged with a spear-wielding
Chichimec. But a second later the man fell to the poison bite of the demon's belly-snake.
The Chichimecs fought with desperate courage, and demons fell crushed by war-clubs and eviscerated by
spears. But the demons were too many and had the advantage of surprise and terror. It burned Coyotl’s
heart to flee, but there was no stopping the demons. He broke free of the slaughter and ran, shouting
to a few others who were escaping. They ran through the spiny scrub, forced upward by the demons
that seemed to swarm over the mountain of their dreadful Dark Mother.
Coyotl paused in the brush, the others halting behind him. There were men screaming in terror nearby.
An Aztec soldier came pelting full speed down the mountain, pursued by a swarm of demons. They pulled
down the panicked man while others attacked the Chichimecs.
Soon Coyotl was alone, striking with his war-club. Each blow smashed in a rotting face or crushed ribs
clothed in rags of skin. Filthy claws raked his skin and fangs spat poison at him. Coyotl howled like his
namesake and charged the demons, a form so savage that even the monsters of the Void drew back in
horror. For a moment Coyotl held his ground. Then he heard a jaguar scream.
Ocelotl came charging down the mountainside. His armor hung in shreds and he limped. “This is it,
Chichimec. Tell me your name and we will go and die together.”
“I am Coyotl.”
“Well named, for you are cunning and fierce.” Ocelotl sighed. He pointed to where the demons were re-
grouping. “I have slain near a dozen, yet it is all for nothing.” Coyotl saw Ocelotl’s eyes were terrible with
fear, anger, and sorrow. “No. There is one last thing I may offer.”
Coyotl gasped as Ocelotl drew the stone knife again. The Aztec held up his hands and prayed as he
slowly turned in a circle. “Obsidian Butterfly, Dark Mother of Death and Life, I give you a sacrifice of a
man’s life that we may appease the gods’ hunger. May it find favor in your sight!” Ocelotl began to sing
the Aztec death chant. Coyotl drew back. From down slope the demons were advancing again. He was
pinned between a madman and the monsters.
Suddenly Ocelotl drove the knife deep into his own chest. He groaned in pain and blood gushed. Coyotl’s
eyes widened as Ocelotl clutched the open wound. The man should have fallen dead, yet he stayed on his
feet. Then Ocelotl screamed, “It is accepted!” He held aloft his own heart, still beating.
Blood pounded in Coyotl’s ears. One thousand coyotes howled under a blood-red moon and Coyotl
howled with them. He bared his fangs, ready to tear the flesh of anything that threatened the pack. Then
he attacked.
Ocelotl rushed into the demons, his macuahuitl in one hand and his heart in the other. Ocelotl struck and
a demon’s skull went flying. He struck again and a demon was sliced in two.
Coyotl was at his side, war-club held high. Demons shattered like glass under his war-club. Bits of bone
and rotting flesh flew as Coyotl broke the demons with superhuman power.
The demons rolled onto Coyotl and Ocelotl like a tide. Wave after wave bit and slashed, snake poison
flowed in streams down the warriors’ skin as they suffered bite after bite. Yet for every claw, for every
bite, six demons died, shredded and smashed.
Coyotl heard a woman singing, a song to her children. He slew a demon then staggered in a hot blast of
wind. Dust swirled over the mountain and Coyotl lost sight of Ocelotl. He closed his eyes, blinking away
the stinging particles of sand.
Coyotl felt warmth on his back and his eyes burned. He opened them cautiously. The mountain was
bathed in late afternoon sunlight. The slope was strewn with broken bones, and snakes slithered for
shelter in the cactus thickets. Coyotl turned and saw Ocelotl sprawled out, still and lifeless. His right hand
still clutched his macuahuitl, but his left was empty. There was a growl nearby and Coyotl saw a jaguar,
sleek and powerful, bound across the slopes until it was hidden from view.
Coyotl shouldered his war-club. He was battered and torn, and the venom of the snakes burned in him.
Yet he was alive. Coyotl felt the power that flowed though him leaving, taking with it the poison and
leaving the pain.
Coyotl looked up at the sun, glowing in the blue sky. “You are a brave warrior Ocelotl. When my women
sing of my triumphs they will say how I fought at your side on the mountain of the Obsidian Butterfly.
They will sing of the Aztec whose sacrifice appeased the hunger of the gods and kept the sun burning.”
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Mitch Allen is the pen-name of two Texas authors. Between them they have lived in places as
diverse as Oklahoma and the Czech Republic. They met while hosting activist broadcasts on
community radio.
When not penning Sword & Sorcery together they pursue their own writing careers in
journalism and literary criticism.
diverse as Oklahoma and the Czech Republic. They met while hosting activist broadcasts on
community radio.
When not penning Sword & Sorcery together they pursue their own writing careers in
journalism and literary criticism.