dots twinkled like torches on top of long towers.
Those are cities. Cities dot the landscape as it curves downward to the bottom.
The cities formed tiny clusters of towers and houses, and the path between them was made of a wilderness. I could see water rushing through the rivers that wound down through the coil, and forests that looked like they were made of sharp needles. I even saw a set of bridges built out of what looked like snakes.
And though I could see these cities, and the roads that connected them downward into the canyon, I saw no cars, no planes, no buggies. No citizens.
My ears were drawn by the very center of the spiral-shaped canyon. It was there that I heard the loudest noise, made of music that seemed to rattle me and cause my teeth to chatter.
At the heart of the coil, a pulsing mass of blackness beat like a heart, bathed in a soft sheen that could have almost looked like blue. That sheen was the only thing even close to a color that I had seen in this world of blackness.
The mass of darkness in the center throbbed and elongated. I spotted slits along its surface, like gills on a shark. The slashes revolted my guts, but I couldn’t take my eyes from it.
“So , you know the heart of this world, woman,” X whispered to me. “Will you touch the black heart inside the city?”
Could it be?
The city?
José María, why can’t you hear me?
I pointed down there so my brother could see the center of the coil, but he had passed out. His eyes were rolled back into his head, and the whites glinted as black marbles.
“You said I am a wanderer. Tell me about that,” I said.
X grunted, and he lowered itself onto the floor. With one clawed hand , he pinned José María facedown onto the rocks, while he held me down by the shoulders as I kneeled in front of it.
The dog head lowered itself toward me, and his rheumy eyes approached. He placed his forehead on mine, and then a lone bell rang out into the space, rattling my body like a toy.
Inside the music he emanated, X talked to me.
I saw you, wanderer. You were a half child when I first spotted you. You were the visitor who came here in a dream . You came from a city of concrete, wood and glass.
The night of my thirteenth birthday, I said through the vibrations that rang where our foreheads met.
You know that the number thirteen marks the entrance to my gate, wanderer, X said.
And then the creature showed me a thousand images, each one cutting in front of the other with the speed of a lightning bolt. I saw images of my father, my mother, our house in Little Village, all in the past. And inside these images, I saw myself sleeping in bed, at the age of twelve, tossing and turning. I felt shame and sadness as I saw my old face, my original face. Inside these exploding images, I caught my parents in the corner, watching over me on the night of my thirteenth birthday.
But what brought me to this place? I thought through into X.
The creature snarled, and his stink of rot enveloped my shoulders, my back, with a single embrace.
She doesn’t know, X said, and he craned his neck as if he were talking to someone else over his shoulder. She can wander, but she doesn’t yet know.
Who else is here? I screamed through my forehead. Who are you talking to?
X pulled back, and I felt a hot spot where our skin had been touching just a second ago. He was scared.
“They will pull out my innards,” he howled. “They will bring me pain.”
“Who?” I said.
“They will be so angry,” it said. “You shouldn’t have spoken when we touched. They heard you,” it said.
“They who?” I shouted and my startling voice trilled.
“The Lords of the city. The Lords in the heart of the city,” X said.
I heard a bass sound pummel from below, like a steel drum destroyed by a hammer. I peered into the heart of the coil, and it pulled darkness toward itself, like a black hole in outer space. The thousands of slits on its heart-shaped
Those are cities. Cities dot the landscape as it curves downward to the bottom.
The cities formed tiny clusters of towers and houses, and the path between them was made of a wilderness. I could see water rushing through the rivers that wound down through the coil, and forests that looked like they were made of sharp needles. I even saw a set of bridges built out of what looked like snakes.
And though I could see these cities, and the roads that connected them downward into the canyon, I saw no cars, no planes, no buggies. No citizens.
My ears were drawn by the very center of the spiral-shaped canyon. It was there that I heard the loudest noise, made of music that seemed to rattle me and cause my teeth to chatter.
At the heart of the coil, a pulsing mass of blackness beat like a heart, bathed in a soft sheen that could have almost looked like blue. That sheen was the only thing even close to a color that I had seen in this world of blackness.
The mass of darkness in the center throbbed and elongated. I spotted slits along its surface, like gills on a shark. The slashes revolted my guts, but I couldn’t take my eyes from it.
“So , you know the heart of this world, woman,” X whispered to me. “Will you touch the black heart inside the city?”
Could it be?
The city?
José María, why can’t you hear me?
I pointed down there so my brother could see the center of the coil, but he had passed out. His eyes were rolled back into his head, and the whites glinted as black marbles.
“You said I am a wanderer. Tell me about that,” I said.
X grunted, and he lowered itself onto the floor. With one clawed hand , he pinned José María facedown onto the rocks, while he held me down by the shoulders as I kneeled in front of it.
The dog head lowered itself toward me, and his rheumy eyes approached. He placed his forehead on mine, and then a lone bell rang out into the space, rattling my body like a toy.
Inside the music he emanated, X talked to me.
I saw you, wanderer. You were a half child when I first spotted you. You were the visitor who came here in a dream . You came from a city of concrete, wood and glass.
The night of my thirteenth birthday, I said through the vibrations that rang where our foreheads met.
You know that the number thirteen marks the entrance to my gate, wanderer, X said.
And then the creature showed me a thousand images, each one cutting in front of the other with the speed of a lightning bolt. I saw images of my father, my mother, our house in Little Village, all in the past. And inside these images, I saw myself sleeping in bed, at the age of twelve, tossing and turning. I felt shame and sadness as I saw my old face, my original face. Inside these exploding images, I caught my parents in the corner, watching over me on the night of my thirteenth birthday.
But what brought me to this place? I thought through into X.
The creature snarled, and his stink of rot enveloped my shoulders, my back, with a single embrace.
She doesn’t know, X said, and he craned his neck as if he were talking to someone else over his shoulder. She can wander, but she doesn’t yet know.
Who else is here? I screamed through my forehead. Who are you talking to?
X pulled back, and I felt a hot spot where our skin had been touching just a second ago. He was scared.
“They will pull out my innards,” he howled. “They will bring me pain.”
“Who?” I said.
“They will be so angry,” it said. “You shouldn’t have spoken when we touched. They heard you,” it said.
“They who?” I shouted and my startling voice trilled.
“The Lords of the city. The Lords in the heart of the city,” X said.
I heard a bass sound pummel from below, like a steel drum destroyed by a hammer. I peered into the heart of the coil, and it pulled darkness toward itself, like a black hole in outer space. The thousands of slits on its heart-shaped
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