She had many names and iterations—Santa Muerte, la Huesuda, Lady of Shadows, Mictecacihuatl. It depended on the culture and language, but each representation and image came down to the same thing. To be blessed by Lady Death, to have his own portaje and to serve her, was what Yadriel wanted most in the world. He wanted to be like the other brujos, to find lost spirits and help them pass to the afterlife. He wanted to stay up all night on boring graveyard duty. Hell, he’d even spend hours pulling weeds and painting tombs if it meant being accepted by his people as a brujo.
As Yadriel approached her, propelled forward by his desire to serve her, he thought about all the generations of brujx who had their own quinces ceremonies right here. Men and women who’d emigrated from all over—Mexico and Cuba, Puerto Rico and Colombia, Honduras and Haiti, even the ancient Incas, Aztecs, and Maya—all bestowed with powers by the ancient gods. A mix of beautifully nuanced, vibrant cultures that came together to make their community whole.
When brujx turned fifteen years old, they were presented to Lady Death, who would give them her blessing and tie their magic to their chosen conduit, their portaje. For women, portajes often took the form of a rosary (a symbol that had begun as a ceremonial necklace and was altered with the rise of Catholicism in Latin America). It was a piece of jewelry that could go unnoticed and ended with a charm that could hold a small amount of sacrificial animal blood. While a crucifix was the most common symbol, sometimes a bruja’s rosary ended in a sacred heart or a statuette of Lady Death.
Men’s portajes were often daggers of some sort, as a blade was required to sever the golden thread that bound a spirit to their earthly tether. By cutting that tie, brujos were able to release spirits to the afterlife.
Being gifted your portaje was an important rite of passage for every brujx.
Every one, except for Yadriel.
His quinces had been postponed indefinitely. He’d turned sixteen the past July, and he was tired of waiting.
In order to show his family what he was, who he was, Yadriel needed to go through with his own quinces ceremony—with or without their blessings. His father and the rest of the brujx hadn’t left him with a choice.
Sweat trickled down Yadriel’s spine, sending a shiver through his body. The air felt charged, like the ground hummed with energy below his feet. It was now or never.
Kneeling before Lady Death, he unpacked the supplies he needed for the ritual. He placed four prayer candles on the ground in a diamond to represent the four winds. A clay bowl went in the center to represent the earth. Yadriel had nicked a mini bottle of Cabrito tequila from one of the boxes that had been gathered for the Día de Muertos ofrendas. He fumbled with the bottle before popping the cap off and pouring it into the bowl. The smell stung his nose. Beside it, he placed a small jar of salt.
He dug out a box of matches from the pocket of his jeans. The flame trembled as he lit the candles. The flickering lights sparked the gold threads in Lady Death’s mantle, catching in the folds and crevices.
Air, earth, wind, and fire. North, south, east, and west. All the elements needed to call upon Lady Death.
The last ingredient was blood.
Calling upon Lady Death required an offering of blood. It was the most powerful thing to give, as it held life. Giving your blood to Lady Death was giving her a part of your earthly body and your spirit. It was so powerful that human blood given in sacrifice could not be more than a few drops; otherwise the offering was enough to drain any brujx of their life force, leading to certain death.
There were only two rituals that ever called for brujx to make an offering of their own blood. When they were born, their ears were pierced, releasing a pin-drop amount of blood. This act enabled them to hear the spirits of the dead. Yadriel’s ears were gauged with black plastic plugs. He liked paying homage to the ancient practice of brujx stretching their earlobes with increasingly large discs made of sacred stones, like obsidian or jade. Over the years he’d gotten them to about the size of a dime.
The only other time brujx used their own blood as a sacrifice was during the quinces ceremony. The offering was made from their tongues to let them speak to the diosa, to ask Lady Death for her blessing and protection.
And that cut was made with their portaje.
Maritza pulled a bundle of cloth from her own backpack and held it out for him to take.
“It took me weeks to make,” she said as Yadriel untied the twine. “Burned myself like eight times and nearly cut off my finger, but I think my dad has pretty much given up trying to keep me out of the forge.” Her shrug was casual, but she stood tall, a proud grin pulling the corners of her lips. Yadriel knew this was a big deal for her.
Maritza’s family had been forging weapons for the men for decades, a trade her father had brought over from Haiti. She had a keen interest in learning how to craft blades from him. Since blood wasn’t used with the blades until a boy’s quinces ceremony, it was a way for her to still be a part of the community without compromising her ethics. Her mom didn’t think it was a proper career choice for a girl, but when Maritza set her mind on something, it was impossible to dissuade her.
“Nothing gaudy and ridiculous like Diego’s,” she said with a roll of her eyes, referring to Yadriel’s older brother.
Yadriel pulled back the last of the cloth to reveal a dagger nestled inside. “Wow,” he breathed.
“It’s practical,” Maritza explained, hovering over his shoulder.
“It’s badass,” Yadriel corrected, a wide smile pressing into his cheeks.
Maritza beamed.
The dagger was the length of his forearm with a straight blade and a cross guard that curved like a sideways S. Lady Death had been delicately painted onto the polished wooden grip. Yadriel held the dagger in his hand, solid and reassuring. He traced his thumb along the thin lines of gold paint that radiated from Lady Death, feeling every intricate brushstroke.
This was his dagger. His portaje.
Yadriel had everything he needed. Now all that was left was to finish the ritual.
He was ready for this. He was determined to present himself to Lady Death, whether or not anyone else approved. But still, he hesitated. Clutching his portaje as he stared up at Lady Death, he sucked on his bottom lip. Doubt crept its way under his skin.
“Hey.”
Yadriel jumped as Maritza placed a steady hand on his shoulder. Her brown eyes were intense as she studied his face.
“It’s just—” Yadriel cleared his throat, his eyes sweeping around the room.
Maritza’s eyebrows tipped with concern.
A brujx’s quinces was the most important day in their life. Yadriel’s dad, brother, and abuela should’ve been standing next to him. As he knelt on the hard stone floor, the emptiness pressed around him. In the silence, he could hear the static of the uneasy candle flames. Under the hollowed eyes of Lady Death, Yadriel felt small and alone.
“What if—what if it doesn’t work?” he asked. Even at nearly a whisper, his voice echoed through the empty church. His heart clenched. “What if she rejects me?”
“Escúchame.” Maritza gave his shoulders a tight squeeze. “You’ve got this, okay?”
Yadriel nodded, wetting his dry lips.
“You know who you are, I know who you are, and our Lady does, too.” She said with fierce conviction. “So screw the rest of them!” Maritza grinned at him. “Remember why we’re doing this.”