Harbinger of the Storm (23 page)

”I see.” He said nothing for a while. “Then my men and I will join the search for her. Let it not be said that a Texcocan can escape justice.”

Teomitl stiffened in shock. “She’s–”

”A political tool,” I cut in.

Nezahual-tzin smiled, without much joy. “You still have much to learn, pup.”

”Pup?”

”Teomitl,” I said, warningly.

”He’s the one picking the quarrel.”

”No, he’s the one provoking you. You don’t have to answer.”

I glared at Nezahual-tzin, daring him to counter with some mocking remark about how to keep my pup on a leash. But his face was serious again, and he was watching me with a gleam in his eyes I didn’t care much for, like a snake making up its mind about a rodent. “Don’t let me detain you,” I said. “You must have plenty of rituals to attend, and respects to pay.”

Nezahual-tzin smiled, that same thin, unamused smile I had seen on the face of the She-Snake. “No doubt.” But he did not move, still considering me in that unnerving way of his.

”You owe respect to my brother,” Teomitl cut in.

Nezahual-tzin’s gaze moved, slightly. “The living one, or the dead one?”

”You know which one.” Teomitl’s face was flushed.

”The dead one.” He turned to me, slightly bending his head, looking for all the world like a snake or a bird. “Apologies, Acatl-tzin. I knew him well in life, and I don’t think he would begrudge me a little delay.”

Of course, Axayacatl had been the one to save Nezahual-tzin, to cast down the over-ambitious brothers and bring the young Revered Speaker to Tenochtitlan. Which also meant he would know Tizoc-tzin and the She-Snake, and it did not look as though he was eager to see either. “The Dead can wait,” I said, bowing my head in return. “But not on a caprice.”

Nezahual-tzin shifted slightly, the obsidian shards of his
macuahitl
sword glinting in the sunlight. “Paying my respects is all I’ve come to do, after all. I’m Revered Speaker of Texcoco, and will not play a part in whatever squabbles Tizoc and the She-Snake have. But you don’t look like a man likely to be caught in their games.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed by his accuracy, or annoyed at the distant, unconcerned way he considered us all. Teomitl had no such scruples. “You look like a man too cowardly to be caught in anything, Nezahual-tzin.”

Nezahual-tzin’s lips curved around the word “pup”, but he did not say it aloud, and luckily Teomitl didn’t see it. “I’ve learnt to see where the priorities are ” His gaze narrowed again, becoming infinitely distant, as if he held all the knowledge of the world. “For instance, you must have been wondering for a while where all the blood on us comes from.”

Teomitl snorted. “What I’ve been wondering for a while is how you enticed the Jaguar Knights to follow you.”

”Enticed? Hardly.” Nezahual-tzin did not turn around. “But you’re right, they’re not my men.”

I looked at the Knights again. My mistake, I should have known that Texcoco had no Jaguar House. Teomitl was obviously more knowledgeable about warrior orders than me, “Then…?” I asked. If he wanted to toy with us, fine. He was the Feathered Serpent’s favoured indeed, enigmatic, taking advantage of the only thing he had, which was knowledge.

Nezahual-tzin made a gesture – satisfaction, annoyance? “Three star-demons. In the Jaguar House.”

In daylight. Outside the palace wards. I scrabbled for words that seemed to have fled. “Did they kill anyone?”

I’d expected him to be triumphant at the shock he’d caused, to revel in our ignorance; but he looked serious again, like a commander on the eve of battle. “No. There are worse places where they could have appeared than a House of trained warriors.”

It could have been worse. Much, much worse. The marketplace, the Houses of Joy…

I took a deep breath, hoping to close the hollow in my stomach. It didn’t work. “So far, they’ve only appeared within the palace wards.” It could mean the sorcerer was outside the wards, like, say, Xahuia, but then why had the Obsidian Butterfly, Itzpapalotl, been able to appear inside the palace and carry off Manatzpa’s soul? No, the most likely explanation was that the Southern Hummingbird’s protection was diminishing, and that the star-demons had grown stronger in the Fifth World.

Nezahual-tzin exhaled, in what was almost a hiss. “And one at a time?”

He was quick, the Revered Speaker of Texcoco, lithe and smooth like the snake that symbolised his protector. “Yes,” I said.

It
was
getting worse. The boundaries between the worlds were slowly and irretrievably caving in. “I don’t suppose you had a councilman or someone important inside the House at the time?”

”Besides myself?” Nezahual-tzin asked.

”They didn’t attack you, did they?”

He shook his head, quick and annoyed. “Not any more than any of the other Knights. And the answer is no. Even the Jaguar Commander was absent.”

No, not worse. Disastrous.

Teomitl was looking from Nezahual-tzin to me, back and forth, with growing determination on his features. “Then my brother has to be told. A new Revered Speaker must be chosen.”

His naiveté was heartbreaking. “Teomitl, it’s not that simple…” The problem wasn’t only Tizoc-tzin. We would have to convince the She-Snake, as well as every single remaining member of the council. Tizoc-tzin wasn’t popular enough to force the delayed vote.

”I don’t see what’s complicated. The Fifth World stands in jeopardy. Any personal interests must be set aside.”

”If only.” Nezahual-tzin’s voice was sad, much older than his years.

Besides, even if a vote could be forced, it would take at least a day to set up, and further time to prepare the rituals of accession, time we no longer had. Star-demons on the loose, outside the palace, meant a greater threat than ever before. They had come not because they had been summoned, not because they had someone to kill, but of their own volition; for their own amusement.

Which meant the path to the Fifth World was wide enough to let them pass; and that we would see many more of them before the sun set.

”It’s not a matter of days,” I said. “Or even of hours. We have to do something, and we have to do it now.”

”I imagine you know what?” Nezahual-tzin asked.

”Of course he knows,” Teomitl snapped.

How I wished I did. Doing something. Doing… I racked my brains for an answer. My protector Lord Death had made it abundantly clear that He would not interfere in the affairs of humans. The Fifth Sun and the Southern Hummingbird had already demonstrated how weak they were. I held neither the favour of Tlaloc the Storm Lord, nor or his wife Chalchiuhtlicue, Jade Skirt, and I did not trust those two more than I had to. The Smoking Mirror, god of Fate and War, was to become the Sixth Sun, and could not be relied on, not to mention that he had tried to topple the Fifth Sun more times than I could count. Among the powerful gods, it left only the Feathered Serpent, to whom I did not have any particular ties. Perhaps Nezahual-tzin, who stood under the shadow of Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent…

On the other hand, I didn’t see why I’d trust the boy just yet, with something that important. And yet…

I closed my eyes. The Duality was the source and arbiter of all the gods; our protector, the keeper of the souls that would be reborn under the Sixth Sun. Ceyaxochitl had been Their agent, and no new one would be invested for a while, not until the rituals for her succession could be completed; but it didn’t mean They had withdrawn from us. Their wards around the palace, flimsy as they were, were probably our last possible defence.

But there had to be a way…

I was a priest for the Dead, and I did not know much of Duality lore.

But I knew someone who did.

“You cannot be serious.” Yaotl’s lips had thinned to a harsh line, the same colour as heart’s blood.

”Do you see a better plan?” I asked.

We had left the boy-emperor of Texcoco to make his own way into the palace, no doubt clamouring for an absent Tizoc-tzin. He had looked at me thoughtfully as he left, a gaze that promised something I couldn’t quite interpret: another meeting, or a challenge? He had more depths than I could probe currently, and since his protector god was not involved in the ongoing troubles, I was going to leave him well alone for now.

But I had little doubt we would meet again.

We had made our way into the Duality House, where we had found Yaotl having his noon meal. He had invited us to join him, though he surely had to be changing his mind, now that he knew what we were asking for.

Yaotl shook his head. “No. But it’s not–”

”Ideal? I think we’re well past that stage.”

Yaotl sighed. “Fine. I already have all the priests I can spare warding the major temples of the Sacred Precinct. But it’s not going to be enough.”

”Then what would be?” I asked. “A new Guardian?”

”You don’t become Guardian that easily.” Yaotl’s voice was grave, measured, carefully counting words, not focusing on their meaning. “The rituals of the investiture take time.”

In other words, what I had known all along: it would be too late by the time the Duality could intervene. “There has to be a way we can get more than wards,” I said. “Their equivalent of living blood.” For any other god, it would have taken a human sacrifice: a removal of a heart, a drowning, a stabbing, the offering of a whole life and vessels brimming with blood. After all, the gods were dead, Their blood drained to feed the sun at the beginning of this age, Their own hearts long since torn out and burnt in honour of Tonatiuh the Fifth Sun. Only through living blood could They exercise Their power.

Yaotl grimaced. His eyes, wandering, fell on Teomitl; he stopped then, stared at the fresco behind Teomitl, which depicted the Fifth Sun rising from His pyre. “Wait here,” he said, and was out of the room before either of us could stop him.

When he came back, he had two old priests in tow, a man and a woman who moved in precise, economical gestures. They wore the regalia of high-ranking clerics, a headdress of heron and duck feathers, and black cloaks with a blue hem depicting the fused-lovers symbol of the Duality. The priests looked at Teomitl speculatively for a moment, and then gave Yaotl a curt nod.

Teomitl, for whom patience was an alien word, wasn’t about to be cowed, old priests or not. “Well?”

”There is a way,” Yaotl said, slowly. “You’re not going to like it.”

That he said it in such a fashion, with no attempt whatsoever at sarcasm, was possibly the most worrying thing.

”Tell us,” Teomitl snapped.

”You mentioned a new Guardian.”

”To which you said it wouldn’t help.”

”They wouldn’t have the Duality’s powers, no,” Yaotl said. “That takes time. The Duality doesn’t choose Their agent on a whim. But, symbolically…” He pursed his lips. “Guardians are still the representative of the Duality in this world. The right choice, accompanied by the right rituals, could be the equivalent of a magical statement.”

”The right choice,” I said, slowly. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

”Imperial Blood,” Yaotl said. “To signify the tie between the Duality and the Fifth World. And a young woman, to remember that the Duality is the source of all life. The creator principle, male and female…”

”I don’t understand,” Teomitl said.

I did, and I didn’t like where this was going. I remembered Ceyaxochitl’s late-night confidences, that she had been married once, which had made her into the living symbol of the Duality. “You’re jesting. Surely–”

”Of course I’m not jesting.” Yaotl’s lips curled up in a savage smile, and for a moment he was once more the insolent slave I’d known all my life.

”There is a chain of succession,” I said. “Proper forms. You just can’t choose a Guardian like this! You–” I stopped, then, for I’d been able to accuse him of being a mere slave. That would have been a mistake. Here in this room he was not my social inferior, but Ceyaxochitl’s assistant, the man who held the order together.

The old priestess spoke up. “Ceyaxochitl-tzin had been watching the young woman for a while. She’s impulsive, and untrained, and inexperienced, but all these can be remedied.”

”Look,” I said, feeling I was fighting against the lake’s current in the rainy season. “Ceyaxochitl wasn’t young. She made plans for her succession. There is a second-in-command, or someone like this, who’s been waiting for years to claim the place. You can’t…” You can’t just go and give it to my sister, who’s never asked for it in the first place.

”Our order will take decisions as it sees fit,” the old priestess said, with the same authoritarian tone as Ceyaxochitl in her worst moods. “Our charge is the boundaries of the Fifth World, not politics.”

And they were naive if they thought politics didn’t apply.

”You don’t even know if she’s willing.”

”Her wishes,” the old priest said, firmly, “are the least of our concerns.”

Clearly they didn’t know Mihmatini at all, to say that. “There has to be someone else–”

”No.” Yaotl’s voice was firm. “It has to be a virgin of childbearing years, with magical knowledge, and associated with another virgin of Imperial blood. Can you think of anyone else, Acatl?”

I would have liked to, but no matter how much I racked my brains, I couldn’t think of another name. For the sake of the Fifth World…

I made a last attempt to stem the tide. “You do know Teomitl is linked to another god.”

The priest sniffed. “To two gods, as a matter of fact. But we’re not asking him to be Guardian.”

”You’re still asking him to be a Guardian’s husband,” I said.

The priestess looked Teomitl up and down, clearly more for show than for anything else. Her mind seemed to have been made up before she entered the room. “We’ve discussed it. It’s somewhat problematic, but the other benefits outweigh the risks.”

The words weren’t said, but I could hear them all the same; they would be naming a Guardian with a husband who would become Revered Speaker, master of the Empire’s policy. Influence could flow both ways.

Gods, Mihmatini was going to flay us all. “What rituals did you have in mind?” I asked. “Another symbol? A wedding, a coupling?”