Defender of the Faith
by Dru PagliassottiI stared at Her intently, willing her to turn and look at me. She restlessly flipped through the pages of a book, her fingernails giving off disturbing sparks of light, Her scent masked by something new.
Cilantro. I concentrated on the back of Her head. Cilantro.
She felt my gaze and turned. Her teeth flashed in recognition-display and She stood. I impatiently wriggled as She reached up and slid fingers down my sides, the cloying smell of flowersweet filling the air. Touch wasn't what I wanted, although I've learned to bear Her hands with the grim patience a deity must show a petitioner.
Cilantro, I commanded, cocking my head to meet her eyes. I was hungry and in the mood for a snack. Cilantro.
"Oh, sweetie," She said, voice pitched in happy-tone, "don't be jealous, now. I haven't had a date in a year, so you be nice, okay? No crazy iguana."
I concentrated.
Cilantro.
We have lived together for many seasons, my priestess and I. Over time, She has learned to understand me, as I have learned to understand Her. But our comprehension is still imperfect, and this evening She was too distracted to read me, absently running Her fingers down my spines. I batted Her fingers away with my hind foot. Enough touching. Cilantro!
A sudden knock made me start. She turned, forgetting me at once.
Irritated, I raised my head, wanting to see this stranger who dared steal Her attention from me.
"Hi. Come on in." She smiled and held the door open for him.
Acrid death-scent filled the apartment. I arched my back, getting a firm grip on the bookshelf and dropping my dewlap in warning. Bad. Predator. Bloodgatherer.
They spoke a moment, then turned to me.
"And this is Belladonna," She said. "Bella, be nice. This is Nicolae. Remember, I told you about him."
"Ah, Iguana iguana," the stranger said softly, walking up to me. "An exotic pet for an exotic woman."
Her teeth flashed again and She moved closer to him. His badscent was stronger than Her fake flowerscent. He carried with him an ancestral reek of eagles and jaguars, of broken eggs and dropped tails. Angered at his invasion, I flattened my sides and opened my mouth, letting him see my razor-sharp row of saw teeth.
With his back turned to Her, he opened his mouth, too, matching my challenge display with one of his own. Two long, canine-sharp incisors jutted from his jaw. Fleshbiter.
I hissed, daring him to come closer. Skulldancer. Nightbasker. Deathbringer. I carry the ancestral memories of my people, and I am not afraid of you.
"Bella!" My priestess's voice was cage-pitched, threatening pick-up and shut-door. "Bella, be nice! I'm sorry, Nic, I don't know what's gotten into her."
"It's quite all right," he said, calmly. He didn't smell worried, but he didn't put his fingers within bite-distance, either. I hoped he would. I'd show the deadwalker a thing or two about drawing blood. "She's just trying to protect you."
"She doesn't usually act this way around strangers."
"Ah, but I think it's charming. Just like a little Mexican dragon, isn't she?" He met my eyes, the great black preybird, graveraptor, eggbreaker. "Did you know that reptiles are ancient alchemical symbols of fire? The dragon breathes fire, the salamander dwells in flame. And your little iguana certainly has a fiery temper, doesn't she?"
"Well, she does love the sun," She said, in happy-voice. It wasn't directed at me. I cocked my tail, warning the nestraider that She was mine, not his. Happy-voice is for me, only for me. "She spends every morning basking in the window."
"Yes...reptiles have very old spirits. They are truly creatures of the sunlight." He straightened and threat-scent poured off of him as he turned. This time She saw his teeth, too, and Her scent became overwhelmed by fearscent. The stranger's voice became a low growl. "Unlike myself, a creature of the darkness."
She screamed.
I whipped my tail around, hitting the back of his head as though his skull were the ulli ball in one of the great god-games of pitz in Xibalba.
His corpse-skin tore open and he staggered forward. He spun around toward me, his hiss matching my own, his claws striking.
But before they could rend my scales, I opened my mouth even wider and breathed an entire summer of stored-up sunlight and heat at him.
He only had a moment to flinch from the brilliance before he crumbled into dust.
Foolish. Any true slave of ak'bal should have known that the ancient tales contain kernels of truth.
All reptiles worship the sun, but we iguanas, who wear the sun-disc on our cheeks and the sun-rays on our backs, are the true children of Itzam Na, god of the skies and lord of the underworld. And we do not suffer upstarts lightly.
I folded my dewlap and cocked my head to look down at what was left of the intruder. Like all losers at pitz, the nightwalker was now a sacrifice to the gods. But I, too, was in danger, torpid from lost heat. I looked up at Her for help.
Heat, I thought at Her, willing Her to hear. Heat.
"Oh, Bella," She whispered, water running from Her eyes. Trembling hands lifted me off the shelf and pulled me close to Her bosom. I gave a perfunctory squirm to protest the unwanted familiarity, but I was too chilled to do more. She set me under the cagesuns and hurried into the food-room, still making strange fearnoises.
Warmth began to thaw my chilled blood and heat my cold bones. The cagesuns helped, but I longed for morning, when I could arch my neck and unfurl my dewlap to honor the four iguanas who support earth and sky and Itzam Na.
The sharp smell of cilantro wafted toward me. I closed my eyes in contentment.
Heat. Cilantro.
They weren't the great blood sacrifices of legend, but then, I'm not a Kukulcan or a Quetzalcoatl, either.
But I am great enough, I thought with satisfaction, as my priestess returned to feed and adore me. I am ah tepehual, the conqueror in battle, and I am great enough.
©Dru Pagliassotti
Dru Pagliassotti is a professor at California Lutheran University and the editor of The Harrow.