Harbinger of the Storm (24 page)

Yaotl grinned. “Close enough.”

Exactly why I didn’t want to go ahead with this. “Yaotl,” I said, firmly. “There has to be someone else. I know Teomitl is convenient right now–”

”It’s not a matter of convenience,” Yaotl said. “It’s a matter of
need
.” His voice was low and fierce, and utterly serious. “If the star-demons are walking among us, then the end has already started. We have to buy time, and we have to buy it now. We’re not going to go through all the imperial princes looking for virgins.”

How could Yaotl even be sure Teomitl was a virgin?

But my student was sitting very straight, and he hadn’t protested; I knew that, if he hadn’t, it meant that it was true. “Acatl-tzin,” Teomitl said. “We can at least ask her. Yaotl is right, there is too much at stake.” He didn’t sound wholly happy about that, and no wonder. Quite aside from my personal objections on the matter, Mihmatini was going to tear his head off.

”Look,” I said. “It’s all good theory, but…” But, the Storm Lord smite me, it was my sister we were talking about, not me or Teomitl. She was no priestess or imperial princess, just a normal girl readying herself for marriage and children. No one had pledged her to the defence of the Fifth World.

Yaotl, Teomitl and the priests were watching me, their faces as expressionless as those of carved statues.

”Acatl-tzin,” Teomitl said. “I swear to the gods I’ll marry her within the year. No matter what my brother thinks.” His face was set in a fierce scowl, moments away from invoking Jade Skirt’s presence. “It’s the only right thing I could do, anyway.”

”I don’t want you to do the right thing,” I said. “I want her to–” And then I stopped, realising I was making all the decisions for her, that I might have accused Tizoc-tzin, the She-Snake and the rest of the council of endangering the Fifth World through the selfishness of their acts, but, really, was what I was doing any better? It might not have been about power or influence, but I was still placing myself and my blood above the sake of the Fifth World.

”You win,” I said with a sigh. “Let’s go ask her. But you’re doing the talking.”

The fleeting grimace on Teomitl’s face was a small but satisfactory victory, the only one I was likely to get all day.

We found Mihmatini still in Teomitl’s rooms, staring at the frescoes as if she could peel the paint from the walls.

”I was starting to worry about you,” she said, getting up. Her gaze descended to my scuffed sandals. “You look like you’ve been mauled.”

”Close,” I said.

”I had no idea Tizoc-tzin was so fierce,” Mihmatini said, deadpan. She raised her eyes; Yaotl had just entered the courtyard. “And you would be…?”

Yaotl bowed, somewhat perfunctorily. “Who I am doesn’t matter much at this juncture.”

”I beg to differ,” Mihmatini said, somewhat acidly. She puffed her cheeks, apparently considering something. “All right. What is it that you’re not telling me?”

I’d never thought I’d actually see Teomitl embarrassed. If he could have turned crimson, he would have. But, as it was, he merely shifted slightly, as if he didn’t quite know where to stand. “We, er–” He shook his head, and plunged on again. “We need your help.”

She was silent for a while. “I see. What wonderful plan has Acatl come up with?”

Teomitl shook his head. “It wasn’t his plan. Look, there are star-demons outside the palace…” He trailed off into silence;

she let him flounder, without a word.

”How interesting,” she said. “So many words to tell me nothing.”

Teomitl blushed. I’d never seen such a sheepish expression on his face. “We need to keep them at bay, and, well…” He took a deep breath, started again. “They need to designate a new Guardian. Us. I mean, you, on account of the imperial connection and the virginity…”

Mihmatini raised an eyebrow. I winced, wishing I could look away. I knew that expression all too well.

Teomitl, too, apparently, for he hurriedly got a more coherent explanation of why we needed a new Guardian, and why it needed to be her. “It’s symbolic. They need a couple who can stand for the Empire in the eyes of the Duality, and we don’t have much time to find one. And, well, Ceyaxochitl had had an eye on you for a while, and thought you might be suitable for the job anyway…”

When Teomitl was finished, Mihmatini was silent again, deep in a dangerous kind of musing, just before she lashed out. She’d never shied from telling me or my brothers exactly what she thought of our heroic acts, and I had no doubt she would.

”I presume you’re desperate,” Mihmatini said, finally. “If you’re coming to ask me.”

I could imagine the smile on Yaotl’s face without turning around.

”I’m not doing this for pleasure.”

”Oh, for the Duality’s sake, don’t be so serious,” Mihmatini said.

”It is a rather serious matter,” Teomitl said.

”Most things are.” She smiled again, half-amused, halfangry. “But you have no sense of humour, either of you. You should give some thought to working on that, Acatl. It’s clearly missing from his education.”

”Much as I love your wit–”

”I know, I know.” She was sober again. “It’s not exactly innocuous.”

”Most of it was my idea,” Yaotl admitted behind me. “If it helps.”

Dear gods, we must really have been desperate, as she was saying. Since when had Yaotl owned up to having an opinion of his own? It was more sobering than I’d ever imagined it would be.

”No, it doesn’t.” Mihmatini’s voice was low and dangerous now, as cutting as a jaguar’s claws. “Let me make matters clear. I’m not a tool to be used at your convenience, just because there’s a need for a well-connected virgin. I’m not a fool either, and I know what you’re asking.”

”Mihmatini–” Teomitl started.

We were asking her to step into a position equivalent to that of a High Priest, to take Ceyaxochitl’s place, for the rest of her life.

”Look,” I said. “I know you wanted to get married–”

”It doesn’t seem to be incompatible,” Mihmatini said, dryly. “But I’m not a fool. Whatever is needed is bad, if it’s got both of you pushing for me to accept.”

Teomitl tried speaking again, a little more forcefully. “I told Acatl-tzin I would–”

”I can guess what you told him. We both know it’s not what you want that matters most,” Mihmatini said, with a small sigh. “Otherwise it would have gone differently. Courtships don’t last a year, Teomitl.”

This time, he reddened. “I’ll find a way.”

”I don’t see what would make it different.”

”You think I’ll renege on a promise?” Teomitl drew himself to his full height, Jade Skirt’s magic hovering around him, lengthening his shadow on the ground.

”I think you’ll do what you can,” Mihmatini said. “I very much doubt it will be all you want, but it doesn’t matter. Come on, Acatl, let’s go.”

She walked out of the courtyard without a backward glance for the spluttering Teomitl. Yaotl followed, leaving both of us alone under the Fifth Sun’s gaze.

”She’s angry,” I said. “She doesn’t mean what she says.”

Teomitl’s face was dark with something more than anger. “I think she means exactly what she says when she’s angry, Acatl-tzin. That’s always been the problem. But it doesn’t matter. This is a promise I intend to keep.” His hands had clenched into fists, so tightly his nails had drawn blood.

Not for the first time, I wished – desperately – that I could believe him.

The ritual for Mihmatini’s designation was a fairly lengthy one; not quite as complicated as the investiture of a new Revered Speaker, but still heavy enough to need a night and a morning to be prepared.

We arrived at the Duality House early on the following morning. While the priests explained the ritual to Teomitl and Mihmatini, I excused myself; and went inside Ceyaxochitl’s rooms to pay my respects.

My second-in-command Ichtaca sat cross-legged on the ground by the side of the funeral mat. His lips moved, silently intoning a litany for the Dead; he looked up at me when I came in, but left me time to contemplate the corpse.

Ceyaxochitl had been washed and garbed in manycoloured cotton. The jade bead had been threaded through her lips. In death she looked small and pathetic, her vibrancy extinguished. Yaotl had said he kept expecting her to rise and take charge. Looking at the thin, bloodless lips, at the pale, blue-tinged face, I knew she wouldn’t come back. She was down there in the underworld, making her slow way to the throne of Lord Death, just as the rest of us would, someday.

It was unfair; she had been so much more than the rest of us.

”Acatl-tzin.” Ichtaca bowed to me.

I nodded, briefly. “Thank you for undertaking the vigil.”

His gaze suggested that I didn’t need to thank him; that he was doing nothing more than his work.

”She will be missed,” Ichtaca said. His round face was grave, and he wasn’t talking about sentiments.

”I know,” I said. She had held us together. No matter how abrasive, or authoritative, she had cared for all of us.

”You could…” He swallowed. “You could summon her.”

I shook my head. “Not until her vigil is complete.” I
could
go down into the underworld to hunt her soul, but it was starting to be dangerous. I could feel the world, lurching slightly out of kilter. To further breach the boundaries at this stage might not be a good idea. Not to mention a summoning would force Ceyaxochitl to turn aside, slowing down her progression in the underworld. I had no wish to make her stay there longer than it had to be.

I spoke a little more with Ichtaca, mostly over administrative matters; and left the room in a much worse mood than I’d entered it.

The shrine to the Duality was atop a pyramid, like the shrine in my own temple. From the smooth marble platform, I could see all the way into the courtyard, into the silent room, its entrance-curtain fluttering in the breeze, where Ceyaxochitl’s body would be resting, washed and garbed for her funeral vigil. And, further on, into the city, the canals glittering in the afternoon sun like strings of jewels, the houses of noblemen gradually giving way to the high, steepled roofs of peasants’ dwellings, all the heart and blood of our empire, as vulnerable as a jaguar with its throat bared.

Below, in the courtyard, most of the high-ranking priests had gathered, dressed in sober blue and black, a dizzying sea of feather-headdresses and ash-stained faces.

There were stars overhead, pinpoints of lights in the sky that were the eyes of monsters, shining in full daylight with no fear of the Fifth Sun. Yaotl was right, the end had already started.

I was High Priest for the Dead. I could do no less, no more than I was doing. But…

Behind me, on either side of the platform, stood Teomitl and Mihmatini. They were garbed like a couple for a wedding; Teomitl in a bright new cape, and my sister in a cotton blouse with a very simple embroidery pattern around the neckline, her hair hidden under a flowing head-cloth. Yaotl had spread cochineal red around her mouth, and given her a basket of fruit and tamales which she held with a slightly sceptical air.

I was suddenly, absurdly glad I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t feel the seriousness of the occasion.

The altar was bare, shining golden in the sun. The air seemed to shimmer with power, the priests of the Duality had been chanting for hours. The two elderly priests who had made the decision to name Mihmatini Guardian-designate stood on either side of the altar, their faces grave.

”Acatl-tzin.” Teomitl held a jar of
pulque
alcohol with an utterly serious air. I was sure he was more used to attending dubious rituals.

”I know, I know.” I
was
used to rituals; but it galled me to have to be a spectator on this one. At least I’d managed to bargain for the right to stay. It seemed a High Priest could attend on the pyramid platform, even if they took no part in the ceremony.

”Look,” Mihmatini said, with an impatient shake of her head. “If you’re going to ruin my life, you might as well not keep me waiting, Acatl.”

”I…” I couldn’t. There had to be some other god, some other ritual we could call on, some other solution that would keep the star-demons at bay, that would shelter us for a while more. There had to be…

I was grasping at maize seedlings, hoping they’d be strong enough to bear my weight. Pointless. We had already gone beyond the point when we could back out of this. Stifling a sigh, I moved to the edge of the platform, and watched the two priests officiate.

“Even as the maguey

You form a stalk, you are to ripen,

Taking root into the earth, you will hold up the sky

Your heart is jade, your heart is a precious green stone

Still virgin, pure, undefiled…”

Mihmatini shook her head; and in a fluid gesture removed the cloth over her hair. It spilled down her back in a flood to sit like the feathers of a raven. She approached the altar, her seashell bracelets tinkling with every step, not like the deep, ominous ringing of Coyolxauhqui’s bells, but a light, airy sound like hundreds of footsteps following in her wake.

“Let us not go weeping forever

Let us not die in sorrow

Let the Fifth World be peopled, let the penance-born endure

Let us join together like the Lord and Lady of Duality…”