Obsidian & Blood (74 page)

  It wasn't safe. Quite aside from the fact that I didn't trust him or his motives, there was also the question of his allegiance. He was of the Triple Alliance, but not Mexica, and Tizoc-tzin would seize on any association between us to make me look worse in the eyes of the Court. I ought to have refused him. I ought to have walked away from whatever he proffered, trusted my instincts and let Yaotl's men continue the search. But the Duality was weak, and the Southern Hummingbird had retreated to safer climes and could not help us any longer. 

  "Only on this," I said.

  His lips curled up for a smile, revealing teeth like the fangs of a snake. "Good."

 

Night had fallen by the time I exited Nezahual-tzin's chambers, and my fatigue was worsening. My stomach yawned in my body like the blind, gaping mouth of a beast; and the world around me was not as steady as it had once been. I stopped by a carved pillar to catch my breath, waiting for the colours to return to sharpness and the wave of dizziness to pass.

  There was little time left. I could rest later; what I needed now was an audience with the She-Snake.

  I took the time to shed my blood for the Fifth Sun, to comfort Him in his journey across the night sky, and then detoured through some nobleman's kitchens, to snatch maize and peppers from a passing slave. After that, I headed back to the other side of the palace. 

  It stood wreathed in darkness, a counterpart to Tizoc-tzin's chambers. The plaintive music of a bone flute wafted from above, like an offering to the Heavens, an unceasing prayer for our continued existence.

  The platform was deserted, and so were the chambers behind the entrance-curtain, the only smell that of old incense congealing in the burners. No one stopped me as I stepped through the remnants of a feast, my feet crunching on crumbs of fried food, and torn reed-mats. 

  The She-Snake sat in the central courtyard, on a coarse reed mat, listening to the music. He dressed in unrelieved black once more, his face a clearer patch in the shadows, his eyes closed, his hands unclenched in his lap.

  The clatter of my sandals on the stone floor made him look up. The music quivered, and then stopped as the slave threw a glance at the She-Snake, who nodded, gravely, as if my entrance were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. 

  "My Lord…" I said.

  He shook his head. "No need to apologise, Acatl. It's a beautiful night for an interview, isn't it?"

  Overhead were the stars, unclouded, the blinking eyes of monsters, the elbows and joints of they who would tear the world apart. Overhead was the Moon, the incarnation of a vengeful, angry goddess who stirred in Her underground prison. 

  "I don't think so," I said.

  "A pity." The She-Snake nodded, gravely. "Leave us, will you?" he asked the slave, who bowed in return, and left us alone in the courtyard.

  The She-Snake did not move, sitting tall and straight on his mat, as regal as if he had been Revered Speaker himself, waiting for me to speak up. The air was cold and crisp, like the breath of the lake at dawn.

  "I come because I have no choice," I said, finally. "I have questions–"

  He raised a hand, not unkindly. "Priests always have questions, Acatl. Whatever god you serve, you seek and hoard knowledge like jade or turquoise."

  It sounded half like a reproach, but I did not rise to the bait. There was too much at stake. "You haven't been exactly enthusiastic about helping me before," I said.

  The She-Snake raised an eyebrow. "I am a busy man, but not an impolite one. You can't hope to come to me with any petty requests you might have, and to have me jump up to see that your needs are met."

  The words came fast and smooth, with barely any pause in his breath. I couldn't believe any of them. He was too much at ease, as if he had been expecting this conversation all along. "I see. And now that I'm here…"

  "I have time," the She-Snake said. He looked up, at the night sky. "Thanks to your trick with the Duality, we have plenty of time left." 

  "It wasn't a trick."

  "Ask Quenami." The She-Snake's face was expressionless, but he sounded amused. "I very much doubt it's on his list of authorised behaviours, even in the absence of a Revered Speaker." 

  "Quenami is a fool," I said.

  The She-Snake nodded gravely. "We can agree on that, if nothing else. Was that the only question you had, Acatl?"

  He made me feel like a child, caught in something much larger than myself – like a fish on the ground, twitching and gasping while land creatures ran effortlessly. "Tell me about Tizoc-tzin," I said.

  He watched me, for a while. "I could tell you many things about Tizoc. What is it you want to know, exactly?" 

  "I don't want to influence you."

  He laughed; a small, joyless bark. "Believe me, nothing you say will influence me one way or the other. Am I not the supreme judge of Tenochtitlan?"

  I knew that; and I also knew what Axayacatl-tzin had told me, that I could not trust him under any circumstances. But did I have any choice? My little "trick" with the Duality, as he called it, would only hold for a time, and I wasn't sure Tizoc-tzin could do as he wanted and call an election here and now. The council had sounded much too preoccupied with their own lives, as if they already knew that whoever was elected Revered Speaker wouldn't be able to protect them. "Tell me. Does Tizoc-tzin have the Southern Hummingbird's favour?"

  The She-Snake looked at me for a while. It didn't look as though he had anticipated that particular question. "Probably not," he said. "Are you wondering whether he would be able to channel Huitzilpochtli's powers into the Fifth World?"

  If I went ahead, if I spoke my mind on this, then I would move from healthy scepticism into outright treason. "Yes," I said. 

  The She-Snake did not speak for a while. "I don't know. Quenami would be better placed to answer that question than I. Tizoc is older than Axayacatl was, and he was never the greatest of warriors, or the most fervent of believers in the Southern Hummingbird's might."

  "I–" I said. I kept expecting something to happen, guards to burst out,
macuahitl
swords at the ready, to arrest me for sedition. 

  As if guessing my thoughts, the She-Snake smiled. "There is only darkness to hear us, Acatl. I don't think you're worrying about the right thing here." 

  "The preservation of the Fifth World?"

  "Quenami is selfish and arrogant, but no fool. He wouldn't back a candidate if he didn't have some plan for making sure of his own safety. He'll know some ritual, or some other trick to make sure that the star-demons remain where they are."

  "But it's not–" It wasn't meant to go that way. He was not supposed to cheat. "It's not a game. You can't fix the rules as you please."

  "Tizoc wants his due," the She-Snake said. "He's waited most of his adult life for the Tturquoise-and-Gold Crown, ever since he was passed over in favour of Axayacatl. He was promised this by his own brother."

  And he was acting like a child denied a toy. Manatzpa was right; he did not have the stature to become Revered Speaker. I took a deep breath, and spoke the greater of two treasons. "The councilmen's deaths…"

  If he had nodded, I wouldn't have believed him. But he merely looked troubled, as if I had raised a disturbing possibility he hadn't considered. "I don't know," he said. "But I wouldn't be surprised."

  I couldn't trust him, I couldn't. He was a consummate actor; he was playing me for a fool.

  The She-Snake must have seen some of the hesitation on my face, for he said, "You don't believe me. I hadn't expected you to. It's one thing to know Tizoc-tzin for a conceited, self-aggrandising fool, and another to know his true nature."

  "Someone told me he wouldn't dare use magic," I said, but I couldn't remember who had said this to me.

  "Even if that were true, his allies have no such scruples. But Tizoc himself would do anything to wear the Turquoise-and-Gold crown. Anything."

  Such as summon star-demons himself, and throw the council into a panic so that he could emerge as their saviour? Surely he would not.

  "I don't believe you," I said. "You're the only other serious candidate, with the council in disarray and Xahuia in flight. If you're so sure Tizoc-tzin is going to win, why don't you throw your support behind him?"

  His lips curled up a fraction. "A matter of principles, I guess you would say."

  I didn't believe he had any, but some scrap of self-preservation stopped the words before I could utter them. "Then what are you doing?"

  "Swaying the people that matter. Talking to you." He appeared amused, as if at some secret joke. "I will show you something, if you will come with me."
  "What?" I asked. "Where?"
  "I can't tell you until we are there."
  "Then why–"

  "Afraid?" He raised an eyebrow again. "Come, Acatl. I have no interest in your death."

  I didn't think he would dare, to be honest. A High Priest who vanished after visiting him… It wouldn't be in his favour, no matter how he could disguise it.

  I looked at him, and saw nothing in his grey eyes. His face was relaxed and open like a spread-out codex, his skin the colour of polished copper, his traits as inhuman as those of a god. In that moment he looked like the carved images of his father Tlacaelel-tzin, the man who had taken us and turned us from a rabble of uncivilised warriors into a great civilisation.

  "I know you won't trust any oath I make by the gods," the SheSnake said. "But if you want to send a messenger to your temple and warn them that you're going with me, please do so. I don't intend to make you disappear."

  Nevertheless… Nevertheless, accidents could happen, and he was canny enough; and he had his own goals. Axayacatl-tzin's warning still echoed in my head. What need was there to take risks? I was already doing enough accepting Nezahual-tzin's help, why did I need to further abase myself?

  But I couldn't shake the memory of the star-demon's taint on Tizoc-tzin, and the way his fear seemed to have eaten him, not only fear for his life, but the annoyance of someone denied a treasure in his grasp. 

  "I'll send that messenger," I said.

 

The She-Snake sent for two spiders – not the small harmless ones in our houses, but the ones found in the southern jungles – hairy and twice as big as my open hand. He took them as if they were pets, stroking them gently in a way that made me distinctly uncomfortable. For all that they were Lord Death's animals, connected to darkness and the end of all things, it was no reason to favour them so much. 

  "I'm not sure I understand," I said, watching him cut into his earlobes to draw a circle on the ground.

  He smiled. "We're not invited where I'm taking you, Acatl. Better make sure we're not seen."

  "You know a spell of invisibility?" I asked. I had never heard of one. I'd been told by Lord Death that it would cost Him too much power, but I had always wondered whether there wasn't a deeper, more selfish reason for this. Such a spell would have removed the wearer from the sight of all creatures, including the gods and Their agents. And I would imagine the gods wouldn't want to have mortals blundering around where They couldn't see them. 

  "In a manner of speaking," the She-Snake said. "Come in the centre, will you?" The blood on the ground was already shimmering, as if reflecting the light of the stars above.

  Axayacatl-tzin's warning echoed once more in my head, but I silenced it.

  He sacrificed both spiders in a swift, professional way. Of course, he was the She-Snake, and would have taken the lead in the major sacrifices while the Revered Speaker was away on the battlefield. Their blood was not red, but rather an amber ichor that coated his hands like glue, dull and dark, as if it were eating the starlight. 

  However, when he started his hymn, it was to a goddess I had never heard of.

 

 

  Smoke spread inside the circle, rising from the She-Snake's hands – warm and smelling of herbs, a pungent odour that reminded me of something infinitely familiar, and yet that I could not place. What goddess was this? It almost sounded like Itzpapalotl, the large star-demon who had consumed Manatzpa's soul before disappearing under the Great Temple. But it couldn't be. It couldn't possibly be.

 

 

  The smoke thinned, flowing out, but it remained on the edges of my vision. I tried shaking my head, but it was as if it had become stuck to my cornea. Its tendrils shifted on the edges of my vision, and never left no matter what I looked at. Magic crept along the nape of my neck, cold and unforgiving, almost like underworld magic, but without its comforting familiarity. It wasn't the resigned acceptance of a god who took whatever dead souls were left to Him, but the endless hunger of something that lived between the stars, something that had been there since the start, and would be there in the end, that would see the night swallow us all, our hymns and our poems, our flowers and our songs, our fires and our blood-offerings, and make us all as nothing. 

  What goddess had the She-Snake called upon?

  "Come," the She-Snake said, bending his head with a smile. His grey eyes had become bottomless pits in the darkness, a window into the deepest cold, the one that had settled across the world before the Fifth Sun had risen.

  I followed because I no longer had any choice; but my fingers clenched around the obsidian knife at my belt, feeling the arc of Lord Death's power, a reassurance that I wasn't alone, come what may.