December 06, 2016

PodCastle 445: In Mixcoatl’s Net

* Author : Charlie Allison

* Narrator : Summer Fletcher

* Host : Graeme Dunlop

* Audio Producer : Peter Wood

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First published on the Aspiring Writer’s Society website in June 2016

In Mixcoatl’s Net

by Charlie Allison

Sunny abandoned her house the day after she buried Anna and struck out for the western metropolis of Palotl. She gathered up all her practical effects in no time at all: a sharp knife, matches, a map, and a pair of good blankets—one from her childhood, one from Anna’s.

Anna’s blanket was a mess of Evenki winter scenes: the Old Witch’s Comb, a strutting rooster and the gaping grey jaws of wolves.

Sunny sniffed. It still smelled like her.

Her own blanket was decorated with Quetzal mosaics in bright reds and greens: the Flower Goddess bringing life to the desert, Mixcoatl the Hunter casting his net through the stars, headless Night Axe terrorizing travelers.

Sunny rolled up the blankets along with a bedroll and stuffed them into her backpack.

She packed a sensible amount of food (turkey and dog sausages, tortillas, a few ears of corn and as much water as she could fit), strapped on her boots, and stomped to her front door for the last time.

Sunny didn’t so much as glance at the home where Anna had breathed her last and their adopted daughters had grown up— a pair of chattering dandelions. Red had settled in the Final Carnival in Palotl while Nissa headed north to glacial Vasirland. Sunny didn’t spare a glance at the tapestries and portraits she’d weaved and sketched of her family. It would do about as much good as praying, which is to say, no good at all.

Katzin yawned in amusement from his customary sunbathing perch on the windowsill.

Sunny gathered up her heavy yew cane, shawl, and knitting supplies last. The cane was a joking gift from Anna for her sixtieth birthday. She propped open the front door with a foot.

“Katzin,” Sunny called, securing her knitting needles in her bun—a practical choice and a sentimental gesture. Anna had given her the scrimshawed needles during their courtship, all those years ago, so they held a special place in Sunny’s heart—and in her follicles.

“We’re leaving.” Sunny announced, adjusting the cloth around her hair to lessen the heavy beating of the sun. She didn’t know why she said it—certainly there was nobody without fur to hear the words. They stepped out of the bungalow, Sunny tossing the key to one side. Let someone unburdened by memories have it.

Katzin drifted towards the west—Sunny followed him, heading towards the trade-road to Palotl. Sunny walked, ignoring the chirping of doubts in the back of her skull.

She didn’t wave to the neighboring bungalows, clay and glass and wood eyes set low in the desert soil. Most of their inhabitants had commuted to work in the city-center some twenty miles distant—transported on synchronized cyclones, carpooling on block-sized behemoths or riding into the office on feral bolts of lightning.

Such methods might be swift, but Sunny had always trusted her feet more than sorcery, applied zoology, and weather systems.

Sunny was alone but for Katzin, the desert wind and her thoughts.

Katzin ambled after her, taking his time to swat at offending butterflies, mosquitos and tardy kangaroo mice.

Sunny trudged forward, disturbing dust. It would take a few days to reach Palotl on foot. If she had been thinking ahead, she would have sent a message to Red to expect her one ...

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