DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.


"And so the night passed by. When morning came, all too soon, we found ourselves being escorted to the site of the next…" Xibalba trailed off. "What are you doing, boy?"

Joao had taken a small notepad from underneath his hat and was scribbling away with a pencil. "I'm making a diagram," he answered, showing his handiwork to the others. A variety of crudely drawn figures were scattered across the page and connected by sharp lines. "So you're married to La Muerte and you have a dad and you also have a brother who's trying to kill the four of you. Since your brother's working with the lizard guy, he's also trying to kill the four of you. And so is that water guy. But then La Muerte and her friends all want to help, so you've got two opposed factions…"

"All this god stuff sure is crazy," said Jane.

Goth Boy nodded eagerly. "Just like Game of Thrones!"

His friends all gasped. "You watch that?"

"I'd rather get through this story today, if you don't mind," Xibalba snapped, making his audience fall silent once more. "Everyone listening? Don't really care, but good. We found ourselves being escorted to the site of the next trial, in another great house of Aztlan. A house even more deadly than the last."


It was, without fail, the tallest and narrowest building any of the three mortals had seen. Its bricks were a silvery gray, and the only adornments on its facade - barely wide enough for the quartet to stand side by side - was a single wooden door. The walls sloped together as they rose into the sky and formed a steeple, or perhaps the tip of a sword. There was no telling how far back the building stretched.

"That," Tezcatlipoca said when he heard the mortals discussing it under their breaths, "is precisely the point." He turned back to the crowd gathered below them. "The second trial Xibalba and his mortals must face is to walk the length of this hall. If they reach the other end and emerge from the door, they shall have succeeded."

The mortals gaped. "That's it?"

Xibalba, on the other hand, was staring up at the facade of the building. "Isn't this the House of…"

"The second trial now begins!" Tezcatlipoca proclaimed, snapping his fingers. The door opened, and the quartet yelped as an invisible force swept them off their feet and into the hall. Mictlan slammed the door behind them and latched it.

"Mictlan," the king said as he beckoned his partner over, "when, pray tell, was the last time your jaguars tasted human flesh?"

"Many centuries ago, my king. Pax tells me they have nearly forgotten the taste. It angers them."

Tezcatlipoca smirked. "They shall be angered no longer. You may tell your warriors that they shall feast well tonight."


It had to be either a joke or a trap. Most likely both.

When the four regained their balance, they found themselves staring down a long, straight road of a corridor. At the far end, a few minutes' walk away, was a plain wooden door mirroring the one they had entered through. The stark walls seemed almost too close together, and Maria thought she saw thin slats in between the gray bricks.

"Something's wrong here," she said, taking Manolo's hand. "Everyone keep close."

Sticking out a foot, Joaquin stomped on the tiled floor. The noise echoed through the room, but nothing more. He took a tentative step forward, and then another. "Whatever it is, they're hiding it pretty well…"

"Xibalba?" Manolo asked. "Do you know what they call this house?"

Maria put a hand up to silence them. "Listen." The faint sound of clicking gears was coming from behind the walls, and the slats were beginning to widen inch by inch. Maria's eyes widened with them, and the blood drained from her face. "Joaquin! Look out!"

Joaquin began to turn around, then jumped as a knife came shooting out of the left wall and sailed towards his head. It grazed his ear, drawing a few drops of blood, and fell to the ground on the other side of him.

"They call it," Xibalba said, "the House of Blades."

Throwing his arms around his wife, Manolo pulled her to the floor and covered her body with his own. They had barely hit the ground when a flurry of knives and swords flew out of both walls, sailing through the space they had been occupying a second earlier. The sound of whistling air and clattering metal flooded their ears and pumped fear through their veins.

"Manolo," Maria gasped out, "we've got to get moving."

He loosened his grasp just enough for her to slip out of it and roll onto her stomach. Reaching a hand out, she began to crawl forward, then screamed as a slat in the floor sent a small knife up between her spread fingers.

Joaquin had already given up trying to move and was lying on his back, his single eye wildly trying to follow each blade. "What do we do what do we do what do we do?"

Manolo flinched as a sword landed near him, followed by a second and a third. Grabbing two, he slid them towards his friends. "Maybe we can deflect them!"

"Are you crazy?" Joaquin shouted at him.

"We can't do much else!" He looked at Maria, who nodded and grabbed one of the swords. "You with us, brother?"

With a shaking hand, Joaquin grabbed the third sword. "On your signal."

"Uno…dos…tres!"

Leaping up at once, the three amigos took off down the corridor. Manolo and Joaquin stood back to back, circling each other as they swung their blades at whatever came their way. Maria danced ahead, twisting her body out of the weapons' paths when she wasn't knocking them aside. The door leading outside slowly but surely grew closer.

More slats opened up, and the rain of metal grew even thicker. The mortals stumbled as they jerked away from unexpected attacks, yelped as stray knives caught bits of skin. "There's too many of them!" Joaquin shouted above the noise and nearly getting a dagger through the mouth.

Another new slat beg to appear, outside his line of vision. By the time he saw it, it had opened fully. His friends looked on in horror as it began to spit a blade at his face -

SPLAT! A wad of tar slammed against the crevice, sealing it tight. Xibalba was making his way through the mess, two more wads forming in his clenched fists. "Turns out this stuff is useful for something after all. Who'd have thought."

He put out his hands, and waves of tar flowed out from his skin. They coated the walls, nearly stopping the flurry of blades altogether. The hidden machinery began to groan, as though backed up.

Manolo dropped his sword and grabbed Maria's hand. "Run!"

Frantically dodging the remaining knives, the three friends rushed forward and hurled themselves at the door. There was the screech of splintering wood, the feeling of a barrier giving way, then blinding light and shocked voices and warm stone.

Bit by bit, Manolo's eyes readjusted to the light. He was prostrated on his back, and the sky stared down at him. As his breathing and heartbeat slowed, he felt a hand touch his. Looking to his side, he saw Maria lying next to him with a proud, relieved smile on her face. "Not bad, guitarrista."

He stood up, helped his wife to her feet and pulled her into a tight embrace. "You're hurt," he said when she winced.

"Not too bad." She reached up and touched his face. "I might not even be here without you."

"Hey, what about me?"

The couple laughed as Joaquin threw his arms around them both. "You too, amigo."

"Impossible!"

The harsh voice pulled them back to reality. Mictlan and Tezcatlipoca were glaring down at them, flanked by a sea of apprehensive faces. "No one has survived the House of Blades," the death god snapped. "Certainly not a mortal. What trickery is this?"

Xibalba slinked towards his brother. "No trickery. Sorry to disappoint." He smiled as he conjured up another wad of tar. "We made a bit of a mess, though."

Mictlan gaped. "The king stripped you of your powers!"

"You can't strip natural powers that easily." Xibalba's expression darkened. "You should know, brother."

Tezcatlipoca was trying not to fume. "It would seem," he said as he turned to address the crowd, "that Xibalba and his mortals have completed the second trial."

The crowd erupted in cheers with La Muerte leading. Itzamna stretched out some branches to lift the mortals up and carry them back to the palace, most of the deities forming a procession around him. Even Ixa's bowed head hid an overjoyed grin.

Tlaloc, Tohil, Tezcatlipoca and Mictlan watched the crowd march away. "My warriors," the death god hissed, "will be most unhappy at the loss of their feast."

"Not a loss," said the king. "A postponement. Besides, they will appreciate it more when they have caught the food themselves."