Obsidian & Blood (40 page)

  Neutemoc's face was closed. "Maybe not," he said. "But things have to be clear, don't they?"

  "Enough," Teomitl said. Again, he didn't raise his voice, but it cut through every word I might have thought of. "Reinforcements are probably going to be useful. Duality priests?"

  I shrugged. "Whatever I can find." I hoped it would be Duality priests, though I'd have preferred Ceyaxochitl and Yaotl at my side, even over a dozen of them. But the priests were fierce fighters. 

  "Very well," Teomitl said. "We'll leave you in Tenochtitlan, and go on to the tree and see what's going on." He raised a hand to forestall my protest. "We'll be careful, never fear. I don't intend to get killed before I get a chance to strike."

  Neutemoc said nothing. I wasn't so sure he wouldn't rush, but at least he'd have Teomitl to control him. It was amazing how persuasive the boy could be, when he applied his mind to the conversation. A boy who would one day be Emperor. Better not to think about that – not right now.

 

 

When I arrived, the Duality House was all but deserted. 

  "The priests?" the warrior at the gates asked. "I'm not sure if there are any left inside. You can look, though." 

  My heart sank. "The Guardian?"

  The warrior shook his head. "She hasn't come back from the palace."

  The Southern Hummingbird blind me. I had counted on Ceyaxochitl not being there, but not on all the priests leaving. 

  I found two priests in one of the rooms at the back: an old man and an old woman, who sat with Mihmatini, sipping hot chocolate. 

  "Greetings," I said. "I was looking for help."

  The priests acknowledged my presence with a nod of their head. "I'm not sure you're in the right place," the old priestess said. "We're somewhat depleted at the moment." 

  "Help? What kind of help?" Mihmatini asked. 

  "Against creatures of Tlaloc."

  The old priest nodded, sagely. "There's been trouble all over Tenochtitlan. The waters rising, and people mauled by things they couldn't see."

  The creatures. Neutemoc had been wrong: the child had come into his full powers, and he wasn't shy about using them either. This wasn't good. Not good at all. "That's where all the others are?" 

  The old priestess nodded. "Emergencies. We're – ah, staying here as a precaution. Keeping the wards up."

  The priest took a sip of his cup. "But if it's urgent…"

  It was urgent. But Mihmatini was in the Duality House, as well as Neutemoc's whole household. Two old priests wouldn't make that much of a difference against what was coming. "No," I said. "Given how badly things are turning out, it's more urgent to keep a safe place. I'll – find help somewhere else."

  Mihmatini had been relatively silent until now. "I'll come with you," she said.
  I shook my head. "Stay here."
  "Because you think I'm too weak to fight?"

  The Duality preserve me, why did everyone take what I said badly? "No," I said. "Because you're not putting yourself in danger." 

  Mihmatini set her cup aside, but didn't speak.

  "Do you really want to fight those creatures again?"

  "They frighten the soul out of me," Mihmatini said, finally. "But my wards–"

  "Won't last in this rain," I said. "And it takes you too much time to draw them. Stay here. You'll be safe. No need to endanger your life." 

  Mihmatini puffed her cheeks, with a familiar thoughtful expression. "Is there need for you?" she asked.

  I stared at her for a while; trying to imagine myself ensconced in the safety of the Duality House. But I couldn't. "It's my place," I said. "No matter how hopeless things are."

  I couldn't read her expression. "Your place," she said. She shook her head, as if exasperated. "You're impossible, you know. You and Neutemoc, come to think of it." 

  I felt embarrassed; though I didn't know why.

  Mihmatini shook her head. "I'll stay here," she said. "The children are frightened, in any case. And you – you're not leaving until I set new wards on you." 

  I made a mock-frightened face. "As you wish."

  Mihmatini snorted. "What did I say? Impossible, both of you."

 

On my way out of the Duality House, I stopped in the barracks, looking for Ixtli. I found him supervising a mock-battle in one of the larger rooms. Three of his Duality warriors were taking on another three, hacking at each other with their macuahitl swords, the harsh sound of wood striking stone echoing under the carved rafters of the ceiling.

  "Acatl-tzin?" Ixtli asked, surprised, when I came in. 

  "I need help."

  Ixtli glanced at his warriors. "What kind of help?"

  "Fighting men. There's a god's agent loose in Tenochtitlan."

  Ixtli raised his eyebrows. "The rain, eh?" he asked at last. "I thought something was wrong. But we're not priests, Acatl. We don't deal in magic."

  I shook my head. "I know. But I still need swords, and men to wield them. Your armoury has magical obsidian." I'd borrowed some of Mictlan's knives from it.

  Ixtli sighed. He looked at the warriors again: only two men were still fighting. "I can spare two dozen men," he said.

  It wasn't much, but it would have to do. "Can you gather them in the barracks? I'm going to find some priests to put on our side." 

  Ixtli smiled. "That would be good. We'll gather our weapons and get ready."

  I left the barracks and stood in the rain outside the Duality House. Each drop slid on my skin, trying to replace my protections with the Storm Lord's magic.

  That wasn't the most attractive prospect: I only had to think of the old woman in Mazatl's house, and of the suffocating sensation of wrongness emanating from her, in order to know the consequences of such an event.

  The Sacred Precinct was deserted: a deeper, subtler sense of wrongness. There should have been pilgrims. There should have been priests, and the dull thud of sacrifices' bodies, hitting the bottom of the pyramid's steps. Instead, there was only the soft pattern of rain, drop after drop falling like tears, sinking into the muddy earth. 

  Through the veil of rain shone the twin lights of the Great Temple: one for Huitzilpochtli, one for Tlaloc. There, I would find help. But the priests of Tlaloc weren't on my side, and the priests of the Southern Hummingbird would be at the palace, defending the Imperial Family.

  My protection was dwindling with every moment I spent outside. Both Neutemoc and Teomitl would be waiting for my purported reinforcements. I had to make a decision, and soon. 

  The Duality House was empty; the Jaguar Knights were dead. I could go to the Eagle Knights, but even assuming they weren't at the palace, they had no magic to help. The temple of Tezcatlipoca shimmered in the moonlight – but His priests were closely associated with the Imperial Family, and they would also be at the palace. 

  That left…

  I turned right, towards the weakest light: that of my own temple. 

  I wasn't looking forward to the next few moments. But there was no choice. The more time passed, the more Teomitl and Neutemoc would grow impatient. And, knowing them, they'd then rush in, without any regard for danger.

 

I walked through the gates of my temple – and, as Tezcatlipoca's Fate would have it, met Ichtaca under the arcades, rising from a kneeling position. At his feet were the remains of a quincunx, the magic already fading. He had no wards, and the rain had soaked into his bones, into his skin, seeking to twist his whole being out of shape. Teomitl had been right: the Storm Lord's rule wouldn't be gentle, but rather make us all into what we were not. 

  "Acatl-tzin." His voice was lightly ironic. "I had an idea you might come. Can I help you?"

  I stared at him – at the drawn eyebrows; brows, ready for a further rebuke; at the faint smile on his lips. And he was right. I had stolen through the temple like a beast of shadows among men, taking what I needed and never giving anything back. I had no claim on Ichtaca, nor on anyone within the temple – and I would never have one, for I wasn't ready to be what he wanted.

  I had been wrong. It wasn't in my temple that I was going to find help. "No," I said, finally, "I don't think you can help me. How do things go?"

  His face didn't move. "As well as can be, considering." He raised his gaze to the grey skies. "The rain isn't natural, is it?" 

  Surprised that he'd turn to me for answers, I blurted out, "Why do you ask me?"

  He smiled. "You look like you might know."

  I sighed. "No, it's not natural. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

  Ichtaca looked at me for a while; and at the remnants of his quincunx. Then he said softly, with the edge of a drawn knife, "Running away again, are we?"
  How dare he? "I have no time," I said.

  "Haven't you? You came for something, didn't you?"

  "There's no need for it any more," I snapped. If I tarried too much, Teomitl and Neutemoc would lose their patience and rush in. I had no time to fence with Ichtaca. I needed to find some other place for reinforcements…

  Ichtaca's face was a mask of weariness. "I think there is. Again – what did you want?"

  Exasperated, I flung into his face, "I came to ask for help against creatures of Tlaloc. But you were right. I have no claim on this temple, or on anyone within."

  Ichtaca was silent for a while, but some of the irony was gone from his features. "That's not what I told you," he said.

  "No," I said. "But I can't do what you want. I'm no leader of men."

  Ichtaca traced the outlines of his quincunx with the point of his sandal; staring at the ground. "No," he said. "But where will you find your help?"

  "There are other places," I said, knowing that there weren't.

  "I don't think you'd have come here if there had been." Ichtaca finished retracing his quincunx, and looked up. "I'm no fool, Acatltzin. Whatever the rain is, it's not on our side. And a spell of this magnitude can only mean one thing: that the Fifth World is in danger." His lips had tightened to threads of pale pink. "I'm no fool," he repeated. "Whatever I think of you can have no bearing on our duty. If you need help, I won't deny you."

  "You don't understand," I said, still trying to take in what he was saying. "I have no guarantee–"

  "That we'll survive." Ichtaca's face was grim. "Do we ever have one? Lord Death takes whom He pleases, when He pleases." 

  "Then–" I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

  Ichtaca smiled. "But there is a price to pay. There is always one."

  "More involvement in the temple's affairs?" I had no taste for it. But with Neutemoc and Teomitl's life at stake, not to mention the fate of the Fifth World, it didn't matter.

  Ichtaca's face was a carefully composed mask. "No," he said.
  "You'll be the one who explains to them why they have to follow you."
  "I can't–"

  "You forget." His voice was soft, but it cut through the patter of the rain. "You are High Priest of this order. They'll listen to you. They'll obey." He smiled again, mirthlessly. "And, perhaps, if you speak well enough, they'll do so with their hearts instead of with their fears."

 

Ichtaca was efficient: within less than half an hour, he had most of my twenty priests gathered in the greatest room of the shrine. He wasn't a fool, either, to cause anyone to stay under that rain any longer than they had to.

  I stood by the altar, under the lifeless gaze of Mictlantecuhtli, Lord Death. The gaunt cheeks and the yellow skin all contributed to lend Him an amused expression. The priests, though, weren't looking at the frescoes or at the dried blood in the grooves of the stones, but at me, whispering among themselves. I couldn't tell whether their expressions were hostile. They had settled in an order that seemed immovable: the senior offering priests in front, the younger novice priests in the middle; and at the back, closest to the entrance curtain, two calmecac students, thirteen years old at the most, looking far too young to be involved in this at all.

  I knew some of those priests, such as Palli and Ezamahual, by name; some by sight; and some I had never seen. Perhaps, after this was over, I'd have time…

  It wasn't the time to think of it, or to make endless plans for the future. Some of those priests wouldn't survive the night. All of them might not, if we failed and Tlaloc took His revenge on our clergy. I bore more responsibilities than just my own life.

  Ichtaca clapped his hands together, and, in eerie simultaneity, every priest fell silent. "The High Priest has an announcement to make," he said.

  If I'd felt ill at ease before, now I wanted to hide. I'd never been a speech-maker like Neutemoc or even Ceyaxochitl. Others navigated the world of politics through their silver tongues. I couldn't. But there were Neutemoc and Teomitl; and Huei, caught by mistake in an ageless struggle and literally sacrificed upon its altar. 

  I took a deep breath, and said, slowly, "I need your help. All of you. I…"

  They watched me, silent – not yet disapproving, but surely it would come. I caught Ichtaca's grimly amused gaze, and wondered why I'd been fool enough to think this easy. Surely all I had to do was give them an order? 

  I…

  If I did this, I admitted, once and for all, that I was what Ceyaxochitl and the Emperor had made of me: a High Priest, head of my clergy, and responsible for its well-being. I admitted that the days of my youth and solitude were past. And I…

  Above my head, the rain fell in a steady patter, like hundreds of footsteps on a causeway.

  This wasn't, had never been about me. This was about the dead Jaguar warriors and the dying Emperor; about the peasants in their flooded fields; about the myriad small priests who didn't engage in politics, but sought the well-being of their flock.