The trek across the grasslands was frustratingly slow on these stumpy little legs, and more than once Zogrusz considered reverting to his true form to hurry the journey. He quashed this idea, though, when a man watching a herd of four-legged animals graze straightened from where he had been leaning against a crooked staff and waved at him. Zogrusz tentatively responded with the same gesture, and then the man turned back to his charges without any of the screaming or panic that had marked Zogrusz’s last interaction with the People.

His disguise was apparently good enough, at least from a distance. Still, his pulse quickened as he approached the uneven stone walls of the small town. Even if he passed as a man, how could he be sure that as a stranger he wouldn’t be greeted with more of those sharp weapons? Not that such things could hurt him, of course . . . but Zogrusz found he was quite excited about the idea of finally conversing with something else. These creatures on this world circling their unremarkable star had no idea how rare intelligence truly was in the cosmos.

And indeed, the tall man in his coat of beast skin standing beside the town’s open wooden doors did lower his spear in a threatening manner when Zogrusz attempted to walk past him.

“Hold,” the man growled, the spearpoint of chipped obsidian glittering in the sun. “State your name and purpose in Xochintl.”

Zogrusz repeated the wave he’d exchanged with the old man, nearly stabbing himself on the spear. The guard blinked, clearly surprised. Aha, so this greeting was only done from afar. Good to know.

“Hello!” Zogrusz said loudly. “I am Zogrusz!”

The corners of the man’s mouth twitched, as if he was fighting to hold back a smile. “Are you now?” he asked, the spearpoint dipping.

The man thought he was jesting. Zogrusz quickly scoured the store of knowledge he’d gleaned so far and learned that humor was a way to forge bonds of friendship. This seemed like a promising tactic at the moment.

“Ha-ha!” Zogrusz bellowed, stretching his mouth so wide that he felt his skin might split. “I am joking, of course! I am not Zogrusz! I am . . .” Zogrusz summoned up the memories he’d recently pilfered from the man watching his animals. “I am Napuatl!”

The guard relaxed further. “Are you any relation to the Napuatl of this town? He is a shepherd – indeed, he is out in the fields you just passed.”

“Oh?” Zogrusz exclaimed, feigning surprise . . . and masterfully so, he had to admit. Communicating with these animals was even more interesting than he had hoped. “No! I have never met this man.”

The guard scratched at his cheek. “Truly? I thought I saw you wave to him.”

Zogrusz inwardly berated himself. These creatures had better eyesight than he’d thought. “Ha-ha! That man is also named Napuatl? What a remarkable coincidence!”

The man shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I take it from how you first introduced yourself that you’re here to visit the shrine?”

Shrine? Zogrusz reached into his store of knowledge but found nothing about a shrine. He should have drunk deeper of the shepherd Napuatl and not just skimmed the surface of his mind. Zogrusz had been enjoying the spontaneity of this conversation and was loathe to enter this man, but he supposed he should learn more about this town. Perhaps he could find the answer without delving too far.

As luck would have it, the image of an impressive stone building decorated with skulls and tufts of black feathers was at the forefront of the guard’s thoughts. This must be the shrine. Why would he want to go there? But if this man thought that was an acceptable reason for him to enter the town, so be it.

“Yes! I have long wanted to go to the shrine. I hear the bones and feathers are very pleasing to look upon!”

From the crinkling of the man’s forehead, he must have said something wrong. Still, the guard stepped aside, motioning with his spear for him to pass through the doors.

“Enter, then, friend Napuatl, and may the dark blessing of Zogrusz be upon you.”

At the sound of his name, Zogrusz barely managed to keep his grip on the man-cloak he wore. If it had fallen away he would have reverted to his true form right then and there and wouldn’t that have been an extremely unfortunate turn of affairs, but with an act of will he tamped down his frission of surprise and reasserted his control over his disguise. Instead, he smiled as he walked unsteadily past the guard and through the great wooden doors, his mind whirling.

How had that man known his name?

Lost in his thoughts, Zogrusz nearly collided with a woman carrying a basket overflowing with vegetables. She danced around him, snarling some imprecation that in his troubled state he couldn’t quite catch, and then she continued along the single muddy road bisecting the small town. Stone buildings loomed on either side of this avenue, and behind these he glimpsed more rudimentary structures of wattle and daub. There were many men and women, squatting in the shade outside the entrances to buildings and clustered around where fruit were laid out on colorful blankets. Shrieking children chased each other around the legs of the adults, and a few small, graceful creatures lounged in the shadows – cats, Zogrusz learned after consulting the knowledge he had already absorbed. He noticed that the townspeople here were dressed in dyed cloth shifts and dresses, very different from the animal skin jerkin he’d summoned out of his memories. But perhaps his garb was not so unusual, as no one had even spared him a second glance as he wandered down the street.

The commotion was overwhelming, an intoxicating mélange. Stray thoughts bombarded him, along with sounds and smells unlike anything he could have imagined. If he’d known how to render himself invisible he would have stopped in the middle of the road and let these sensations wash over him; since he did not – nor did he want to draw any undue attention to himself – he continued walking, while also trying his best to keep the illusion he had created absolutely flawless. To help himself focus, Zogrusz concentrated on the delicious nectar that had drawn him here. It hovered in the street, pulling him along as if plucking at some primal need. He couldn’t help but taste the air with his man-tongue, and even though the flavor was diluted it still thrilled him. He was much closer to the source of what had sustained him while he slept.

He found he was not surprised when the trail ended in front of the structure the guard at the gate had called the shrine. It was the most impressive building in this town – taller than Zogrusz even in his true form – and was the only one decorated with bones and feathers and other small talismans. Clearly, this was a place of great importance to these People.

Zogrusz pushed through the hide flap covering the entrance and found himself in a single large room. The day trickled through in places where the irregularly fitted stones of the walls were not perfectly joined, and that was the only light in the chamber. Something strange-smelling had also been burned here recently, making the interior even murkier. Reed mats were scattered about, surrounding a great flat chunk of stone in the middle of the room, and Zogrusz could tell that the object placed on this rock was of some importance.

It was a statue. Not large – perhaps only as tall as his forearm was long, but it was intricately carved, though also evidently ancient, as some of the details had been effaced by time. Still, there was no doubt about what it was supposed to represent.

Him.

Zogrusz traced the lines, marveling at the skill that had summoned his likeness from the stone. Huge bulbous eyes above a nest of writhing mouth-tendrils, a thick muscled body with the nubs of wings poking out over sloping shoulders.

How marvelous. How beautiful.

“You there!”

Zogrusz turned. A cadaverous old man in flowing robes stood framed in the entrance to the shrine. From his expression and the tone of his voice Zogrusz suspected he was angry.

“Hello!” Zogrusz cried cheerfully. He nearly waved, but then stopped himself. The man was almost certainly too close for that greeting.

“You dare touch our god Zogrusz?” the man snarled, letting the hide flap fall as he strode into the chamber, his hands clenched.

Zogrusz snatched his fingers back from the statue. “Apologies!” he cried. “I was overcome by the workmanship.”

The man scowled, but Zogrusz saw a slight softening in his face. “I understand, stranger. I remember my first time in this room, when I felt His presence looming over me. But you cannot so blithely stroke the visage of our dread lord! Such disrespect might summon His rage, and all of Xochintl would suffer his wrath.”

“What delightful nonsense!” Zogrusz exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Did you make it up yourself?”

Even in the gloom, Zogrusz could see the man’s face darken. Oh no, he’d miss-stepped again.

“Nonsense?” the man hissed. “It is the wisdom of our ancestors! It was they who Zogrusz appeared before and whispered his dread words. And so long as we honor him in this place he will not return and punish us for our failings!”

Zogrusz thought back to that night in the clearing. He remembered introducing himself several times – apparently, at least one of these animals had been listening.

“How do you know he is so vindictive?” Zogrusz ventured. “Perhaps he is a friendly god.”

The old man barked a mirthless laugh. “Ha! Friendly? He is the Lord of the Abyss, the Night-bringer, the Devourer of Souls. And yet He has bestowed great wealth and power on our tribe in return for our fearful devotion. It is our great mission to spread His dark shadow over all these lands.”

Zogrusz couldn’t help but smile at the man’s words. “So you will go out and bring others to worship Zogrusz? To fear him?”

“Of course!” the man replied. “Our warriors have defeated a dozen tribes and all of them have cast down their pathetic spirits in favor of Zogrusz!” The man’s expression turned shrewd. “Perhaps you are here from one of these peoples to steal His holy statue? Is that it?”

Zogrusz held up his hands placatingly. “No, no! I promise your fears are mistaken! I was merely curious.”

“Curious,” the old man murmured, his eyes narrowing. “But you are a stranger and I do not know you. Why should I not call for our warriors to come and bleed you out as a sacrifice to our dark lord?”

Zogrusz had the sudden giddy desire to let his man-mask slip for a moment. He would take great pleasure in seeing the look on this man’s face if one of his mouth-tendrils had suddenly squirmed out. But he hesitated, unsure what kind of chaos revealing himself would cause.

He needed to leave this place and consider his next course. Whatever the animals of this town were doing in this shrine in front of that statue had kept him fed during his long sleep, and before he upset the situation here he should think very carefully about what he was doing.

The old man was still watching him for a response to the threat he had just made. Well, he’d try his best to satisfy him.

“Oh, no!” Zogrusz cried, covering his mouth with his hand. “Please, no bleeding! I prefer my blood inside me!”

The man frowned, his eyebrows rising. Apparently, this was not the reaction he had been expecting.

“Then away with you,” he snapped, jerking his head in the direction of the entrance.

“Yes, of course!” Zogrusz said, hurriedly crossing the chamber and flinging aside the flap as he stumbled outside. He waved jauntily at a few nearby women who had stopped their conversation to stare at him in surprise, and then he began striding purposefully down the street in the direction of the town gate, his stolen man-body thrumming with exhilaration from this fascinating exchange.