Zogrusz slipped inside the old man’s mind as they trundled towards the great city, but he found no answers to satisfy his questions. The fellow’s mental landscape was overwhelmingly dominated by thoughts of a clear liquid called pulque, a bottle of which was waiting for him at his home. From what little Zogrusz could extract, they were approaching Amotla, the greatest city of these lands and ruled by the priest-king Cozotl. His rummaging unearthed nothing about a dread god named Zogrusz, but there was plenty concerning the goddess Anecoya.

It seemed he had some competition.

Mosaics adorned the walls of the city, the images of a red bird in flight illuminated by flames blazing in braziers that flanked the great gates. There were other people passing into Amotla at this late hour, and the bored-looking guards waved them along without even bothering to inspect the wagon or Zogrusz, who was sitting in awe among the fruits as he stared up at the fortifications.

Truly, these humans had built something incredible here. And beautiful – the vibrant pictures set into the walls were made up of countless small colorful stones perfectly arranged. Could he do the same in his mountain sanctuary? Zogrusz imagined the graven images he had envisioned carving flowing into such mosaics, filling the cavern’s walls, and he shivered in excitement at the thought. What clever little creatures these humans had become!

The wagon passed through the gate and entered a great square filled with the remnants of a market that must have been bustling earlier in the day. Now only a few merchants remained, and they were selling confections of spun sugar and meat threaded on long sticks to laughing men and women wearing feathered masks. Soaring houses of white stone rose up around the square, their doors and windows gracefully arched, and many also boasted balconies with wrought-iron balustrades where more humans had gathered in conversation. One building recessed further within the city loomed over all the rest, its domed roof ringed by slender minarets.

Zogrusz was so overcome by the majesty of what the humans had created that he didn’t realize that the wagon had come to a halt until the old man spoke.

“Well, friend, here’s where we part. I have ta deliver these melons to my partner, and I canna imagine you want ta come visit a fruit warehouse, what with all the city to explore.”

Zogrusz nodded absentmindedly as he climbed down from the back of the wagon, still looking about wide-eyed.

The old man chuckled, shaking his head. “I can see this is yer first time in the Queen of Cities. Enjoy yourself, lad, but make sure to keep a hand on yer money-pouch and yer wits about ye.” Then with another flick of the reins, he sent the wagon lurching forward again.

Zogrusz didn’t even think to say farewell or thank the old man, as he was too distracted by the incredibly rich stew of thoughts and emotions filling the square. Briefly he entertained the idea of shedding his disguise and sending the humans here scurrying in blind panic – he could almost taste the delicious flood of fear that would result, and the hollowness that had been slowly growing inside him ached in yearning.

But not yet. He would resort to that crude manner of feeding only if he felt his survival was truly at stake. Until then, he’d try and discover where that trickle of dreadful worship was coming from.

It was much stronger here in the city proper – he knew he was close to the source. But there were so many ambient psychic distractions that he was finding it difficult to know where exactly he should search. Zogrusz slowly turned, his gaze sweeping the pavilions and stalls of the market square. His curiosity was drawn to where a crowd had gathered in front of a covered stage. Elaborate wooden carvings decorated the frame, and Zogrusz blinked in surprise when he realized that one of these images depicted him in his true form, though his head was ridiculously large and some of his writhing mouth-tendrils were grasping drooping flowers. His portrayal was just one of several, and the others included a grinning dog and a solemn human child holding an hourglass. Looming over all these carvings was a great red bird with wings outspread, its feathers resembling tongues of flame. Bemused, Zogrusz wandered towards the stage, and as he drew closer he noticed movement atop its roof – several humans were crouched up there, almost invisible to those watching from below.

Excited murmurs rippled through the crowd as something began to descend towards the stage from above. It was a cleverly constructed wooden doll with fabric mouth-tendrils and stunted little wings, suspended by threads that allowed for each limb to move independently. Zogrusz found he was grinning watching this representation of himself alight on the stage and begin to amble back and forth. How marvelous! So these humans did remember him! But the dread that had kept him alive as he slumbered had not originated from this puppet show, for he could sense that the watching humans did not fear him.

In fact . . .

Zogrusz frowned as the puppet suddenly changed its gait. Now it strutted across the stage, radiating arrogance through the skillful manipulation of those above, and a few scattered guffaws rose up from the watchers. He sensed tension, like those around him were waiting for something with bated breath. This wasn’t really fair, Zogrusz decided – he had never comported himself like this puppet, even though he was a far more advanced and powerful being. In fact, he had tried to avoid upsetting humans whenever he encountered them . . .

Zogrusz gasped when some white liquid poured from above to splatter on the puppet’s oversized head. Laughter erupted from the crowd as the wooden Zogrusz began running around in a panic, mouth-tendrils flapping comically. Another puppet swooped down from where it had been hidden, a great red bird, chasing the Zogrusz off the stage to applause and cheers. It flapped in a circle, then settled on the platform and spread its wings wide. Zogrusz noticed that flames were painted onto the bird puppet, as if it had been set on fire, though from its behavior this was not bothering it.

He frowned as several other puppets were lowered to join the bird on the stage. So the humans did remember him, but now derision had replaced veneration. It was no wonder that he had awoken on the brink of starvation . . . they clearly did not fear him anymore.

Or most of them, anyway. Zogrusz sniffed, focusing once more on what had drawn him to the city. Someone here still held fast to the old ways, he was sure of it. He turned away from the stage and began pushing through the crowd of masked humans, following that faint trail. Behind him, the bird-puppet screeched, and to Zogrusz it almost sounded like it was mocking him.