Bloodwitch

YESTERDAY, AS LADY BRINA
worked on her latest masterpiece, she shared with me a myth she had recently learned about quetzals. According to the Mayan people, the bird used to be all green, from the crest on its head to the tip of the male’s two-foot-long tail feathers. Almost three hundred years ago, the Mayans fought a great battle against the Spanish. When their greatest warrior, Tecún Umán, was slain, a quetzal settled on his chest to mourn. Tecún’s blood stained the bird’s breast, leaving the brilliant red feathers that remain today
.

The Mayans were not the only ones to recognize the little bird in myths. The Aztecs also revered the resplendent quetzal, with its brilliant red, green, silver, and gold plumes. The male’s iridescent green tail feathers were crucial to the Aztecs’ sacred rituals, but killing a quetzal was punishable by death, so the great warriors had to capture the birds carefully in order to gently pluck the two
long plumes. They then had to release the birds, which could not be kept in captivity
.

According to legend, the resplendent quetzal cannot survive in a cage. Romantics say the beautiful bird will die of a broken heart when deprived of its liberty. What is known is that imprisoned quetzals kill themselves
.

Lady Brina called the story ironic, though she would not explain why
.

Most of the myths she tells are like that. For every moment of love or compassion, there are scenes of brutality and violence. Consider the Greek Prometheus, who was tied to a rock so his liver could be devoured every day for eternity, for the crime of giving fire to humanity. Or poor Hephaestus, who was flung out of Olympus by his own mother for no reason except that he was born ugly
.

When Lady Brina paints, she makes these tragic stories beautiful. Even when the subject is dark and terrible, I am drawn to her work. I am grateful to live where I can be surrounded by such beauty all the time
.

I do not know why my own parents abandoned me, like the Roman founder Romulus, who was also left in the woods. My guardian, Taro, says that we will probably never know. Maybe I should take a hint from mythology and accept that I was thrown away like Hephaestus. I could have been murdered instead, so my blood would feed the fifth sun, one of the sacrifices the Aztecs believed would keep the world from ending
.

My gods, the immortals who have raised and cherished me,
also need blood to survive. I would sacrifice to them if required, but they do not ask it of me. All they ask for is my loyalty and my love
.

They have both
.

Vance Ehecatl

1803

I DIDN’T MOVE
. I didn’t dare.

Were my tail feathers trembling? If they weren’t already, they would begin to soon. This perch wasn’t comfortable, and it was hard to remember why I needed to stay still. It was difficult to understand things like that when I was in my quetzal form.

I risked a quick glance at Lady Brina but saw her brother, Lord Daryl, instead. That was reason enough to freeze. Lady Brina had instructed me to hold this exact pose. Lord Daryl would be very angry if he caught me staring at his sister instead.

I returned my gaze to one of the copper strips that held together the large frosted-glass panels that made up this corner of what Lady Brina called her greenhouse. I had often pondered the name, which seemed strange to me. Lady
Brina’s studio was filled with pure white light, and the rest of her “greenhouse” was made of elaborate, multicolored stained-glass mosaics—no more green than any other color. Intricately carved wooden screens let fumes out and fresh air in.

My own two-room wooden cabin was tucked into a corner of the enclosed property, a house inside a house. Sometimes I wondered if the greenhouse was inside
another
house, but I had never been outside it to find out.

My foot slipped again. I had been standing this way for a very long time. I could have slept on one of the perches higher up and been perfectly comfortable, but the steel one Lady Brina had provided near her canvas so I could model for her was slick under my talons. It was hard to find purchase and keep my balance.

I relaxed a little when I realized that Lady Brina was distracted, feeding. I still didn’t dare turn my head to look at her, but I could see shadows in my peripheral vision—two women, their forms made giant by the late-afternoon light. I had witnessed similar scenes often enough to know what they meant.

Lady Brina pushed her blood donor away. The second shadow stumbled, and I heard the scuff of a toe against the soft dirt ground. Moments later my shapeshifter friend Calysta crossed my view.

Calysta had promised to give me a dance lesson later, but now she would need to rest instead. I tried to squelch
my disappointment. Lady Brina’s needs came before my wishes. I would have given her my own blood, if she had asked.