I sat for a long time with my arms wrapped around myself, letting relief sooth my shaking nerves. When I felt ready to move again, I turned my attention to the burned trails in the grass. Would Fuego come back? Or had the river put it out? I got up and traced the scorch marks on shaking legs. There was no sign of continued burning where they met the scarlet waters. Magic or not, Fuego was still fire.

I returned to my jacket and inspected the damage. The hole in the sleeve had widened, and another had appeared near the bottom hem. The whole thing was stained, but otherwise intact. I pulled it on again. It wasn't cold in Mictlan, but the hug of the familiar garment was precious reassurance. I was competent when I wore this jacket. It brought me back to all the trapping and scouting I had done in the wilds around Grillo Negro since I was a girl, at home in the desert. Being without it just reminded me of the gods' house. I was useless there.

I sat on the grass again until I felt I could walk steadily, then picked up my walking stick and pushed myself to my feet. Tochtli and Grifo both tucked their tails between their legs and circled at a distance. Grifo too, now? I swung my stick into a rock in a burst of anger, and swore as it jarred the burns on my hands. My magic did one thing, and that thing was not healing. I was never summoning something again.

A jaguar had gotten bolder than its companions while I sat. I willed proper flames into my walking stick, but it only smoked. It was the same smoke Fuego made. I pointed the stick at the glowing eyes in the bush instead, and simply let it smoke. The predator backed off.

I waited for Tochtli to take the lead again, but she hid behind Grifo and refused to come close. Some impulse seized me, and I slammed my stick into the thick bushes with a burst of magic. Their leaves shrivelled and sloughed off like large, brown snowflakes. It was more satisfying than it should have been. As the branches too crisped, I whaled on them again. They shattered like glass. Step by step, I forged my way into the deep, dense thicket.

Bushes. Burn the bushes.

Fuego was more than happy to oblige. With every surge I sent into the brush, it came back stronger, a rush of power strengthening the next wave. I could feel now why it was so deadly when released unchecked. It consumed like fire and festered like disease. It fed on its target and took that energy into itself instead of just releasing it. No wonder it had razed the world in a day. It got stronger the longer I let it burn.

It also got happier. I struck a bush's trunk, and the fire in me sang as its leaves exploded into ashes. Fire liked to play. I hit another bush, and this time asked to keep the leaves intact. They fell in a rain of green as my magic obliged. I went stronger next, sparing a whole bush while the ones around it crumpled. The trick to controlling Fuego was not to put it out, but to direct its burning away from a particular fuel. Not a fight, but a dance.

Bushes fell faster. They twisted like corpses, bowing and folding out of my way. A thrill surged through me as the twigs of a shrub peeled apart like maize husks. I let my stick linger on it. It shuddered as its branches withered. One split with a bang like a split rock. A second followed, then a third. Why wouldn't they light? I wanted flames. Flames were bright and pretty, and they spread so much faster.

Burn. Burn!

My stick wrenched back as something bit my leg. I swung it around and just missed Tochtli as the haze over my senses blew sideways. I swayed as it cleared. What was I doing? The trail I looked back on was wider than I was tall: much wider than we needed. Heart suddenly pounding, I turned to face the shrub again. The fire roared inside me. I stumbled back. In a surge of will, I seized it and cut off every other fuel, then held on tight as it writhed in protest. Another branch still split open. What I had released was burning on its own. The wound in the wood gaped painfully wide, then buckled as the trunk gave in and cracked from top to bottom.

How close had I just gotten to going out of control? I sank to my knees, suddenly hyperventilating as the heat built up in my lungs. It was like damming a river. The fire whirled inside my body, angry and insatiable, and I broke out in a sweat as I battled to keep it in. Was this how I would burn? Either consumed by the fire I released, or consumed by the fire I withheld? If I let it go again now, I would never be able to stop. But if I didn't...

The intensification was slowing. My vision blurred for a moment as the heat peaked, raking my throat raw like I was breathing fire itself. Then, slowly, it began to subside. I could hold out. I closed my eyes and focused on keeping the other fuels blocked as the fire that self-perpetuated when released ran out of extra energy and shrank inside of me. When it bottomed out as a warm knot in my chest, I opened my eyes.

Too close. But at least I knew my limit now. My gaze lingered hungrily on the bushes ahead. I wanted to keep burning. So long as I didn't go that far again, that was okay, right?

Exhaustion should have taken me by the time I emerged out the other side of the thicket. I felt nothing. Ahead, bare ground gave way to rocks: round boulders this time. A path snaked between them. Nothing was ever that easy down here. My magic yearned to turn around and go back to the bushes. I wanted to keep burning. I tried to make flames again, then slammed my stick against a rock when it just smoked harder. It didn't even jar my hands. I could hardly keep a handle on my normal sense of touch beneath the heat that engulfed it.

Tochtli was not happy about the path ahead. I picked up a rock and threw it down the open trail. Nothing happened. I strode three paces after it and leaped as an arrow missed my chest by inches. Shadows moved between the boulders. I was off the path again before another fired.

I was so done with this place. I imagined shunning the path altogether, jumping through the bushes and turning whatever lived there to smoke and ashes. The thought made me far too excited. I sank my fingernails into my arms until they nearly cut skin. Sense took hold again, but it was a tenuous hold.

What had I seen that could defend against arrows? In my mind, they shattered against turquoise and deep purple wards. I wasn't a spellcaster. I needed a shield. I turned back to the thicket to look for wood, only to find that the destruction I had inflicted had spread far beyond my shattered path. Bushes as far as I could see were leafless and withered. Dry like firewood.

I jammed my walking stick into the ground. Before it could tempt me to kill more bushes, I set out at a walk parallel to the rocks' edge. The path through the boulders never went away. Every time I lost sight of it, I would round the next corner to find it once again winding away into the distance, to be lost in the gloom.

I found living bushes again eventually. The first one I cut a branch from crumpled immediately. Gods, did every part of me burn things now? I barred my magic from the bush, but it strained at my fingertips, threatening to slip my grip at any moment. It was stronger than before. It kept strengthening. Part of me rattled with alarm at that thought, but another brushed the worry aside.

Still, I couldn't handle wood if I had this tenuous a hold on my fire. I needed water. Could I make water? I tried, and generated a small puddle that radiated death into the grasses. It then evaporated before my very eyes, shrinking to a wet spot that vanished with an almost petulant hiss. I'd do this the hard way, then. My hands took another burn as I summoned a large gourd. I retraced my steps through the thicket, back towards the blood-river.