by Zoe Saadia
Table of Contents
Copyrights
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Afterword
Other books by author
The Highlander
Zoe Saadia
(2012)
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Rating: ★★★★★
You can also enjoy CROSSING WORLDS, the 2nd in the Rise of
the Aztecs series, for 99 cents.
Born in the Highlands, Kuini thought his life was simple. You hunt and you fight, defending your towns against the raids of the Lowlanders and then raiding their lands in turn. His father was the Warriors' Leader, and he wanted to be just like him.
Yet, Texcoco, the mighty Capital of the Lowlands, seemed incredibly beautiful, sparkling, its pyramids magnificent. A friendship with the Lowlander boy, the First Son of the Texcoco Emperor, seemed harmless in the beginning. They were just boys, and their clandestine meetings were always fun, providing great entertainment.
However, on the day Kuini agrees to finally enter the magnificent city, it would all change. He expected to get into trouble, but he could not foresee the extent of the trouble and, worst of all, he did not expect to uncover hidden secrets concerning his own family.
The Highlander
The Rise of the Aztecs Series, book #1
By
Zoe Saadia
Copyrights 2012 by Zoe Saadia
AMAZON EDITION, License Notes
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PUBLISHED By
Zoe Saadia on Amazon
Table of contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Afterword
Prologue
City of Texcoco,
1409
A loud, desperate howl tore the silence. Followed by a jumble of ranting, screaming, and sobbing, it rolled between the plastered walls, shaking the Palace out of its usual afternoon rest, prematurely so.
Coyotl jumped, his heart pounding. Blinking in the strong light, he tried to concentrate, to understand what had happened. His gaze leaped around the room. Both of his half brothers made an admirable effort to stay asleep, burying their heads into their mats and pulling their blankets over their heads. He watched them, contemplating doing the same.
The screaming began dying away, as though the upset woman had been hushed behind the closed screen. He could hear her muffled voice, still screeching. The harangue was interrupted by an occasional sob, and now he knew who she was. The Chief Wife of the Emperor, his father. Oh the vile woman could be easily upset, but not like that. He could almost feel her anger rumbling down the passageways.
Grabbing his gown, he sprang to his feet and slipped out of the room. Sure-footed, he made his way along still deserted corridors, abandoned for the duration of the midday. Yet this time, maids and servants rushed about, their faces excited, eyes gleaming.
He brushed past the cool plastered walls, not bothering to conceal his presence. He was just a boy of ten summers, someone of no consequence, with his mother being only one of the minor wives. She was the sister of Huitzilihuitl, the current ruler of the Aztec Tenochtitlan; not a complete nonentity, but not a rival to the Emperor’s Chief Wife, the daughter of the mighty Tepanec Ruler, Tezozomoc.
Yet, now the impeccably noble Empress was shrieking at the top of her voice, and Coyotl could not keep his curiosity at bay. His sandaled feet made no sound upon the polished tiles of the floor as he sneaked toward the quarters of the Emperor, located on the other side of the Palace.
“Oh, he will regret it. He will regret it dearly.” The muffled voice of the Empress shook. “He thinks himself a great Emperor, the one who can oppose my father. With this pitiful town of his and the few surrounding provinces. How ridiculous!” Her voice rose. “The Lord of the Chichimecs, mind you! He wants the title of the first ruler of Texcoco. Imagine that! The Acolhua nobleman, the Emperor of Texcoco, suddenly wants to be the lord of the barbarians.” Another sob cut the harangue. “Oh, but my father will put him in his place, you just wait and see.”
The sobs grew quieter, overcome by the murmuring of the nervous female voices. Coyotl frowned, then slipped behind the carved wooden column when a group of maids swept by. Luckily, they didn’t notice him.
What was so unusual about that? he asked himself, puzzled. So the Emperor assumed another title. So what? Why would it make his Chief Wife so upset? And why did the annoying woman think it would make the powerful Ruler of the mighty Tepanecs angry, or even interested?
The woman began yelling anew, evidently done with the previous bout of sobbing. “How dare he to treat me like that? How dare he? Me, the daughter of the mighty Tezozomoc, put aside like a woman of no significance? Oh no, he cannot get away with this! Never! My father will see through him, and he will come down and tear this pitiful province of Texcoco apart. This altepetl and all surrounding towns will be just ruins when my father finishes with it!” A convulsive breath seeped through the cracks in the screen. “And then he will ruin Tenochtitlan as well. These cheeky Mexica-Aztecs should have been put down a long time ago.” The hollow sound of pottery being thrown against the wooden screen interrupted the screaming fit , making Coyotl jump. “How could he? To make this silly, good-for-nothing Mexica woman his Chief Wife. This ugly, little, stupid mouse of a woman. His Chief Wife? The Empress? I ask you! That dirty lump of—”
Coyotl’s heart was thumping so loudly, he could not listen anymore. He clutched onto the polished column, his palms sweaty, slipping against the carvings. Had he heard it right? Had the Emperor actually advanced Coyotl’s own mother to be his Chief Wife? It could not be true. The hysterical woman must have gotten it all wrong.
He tried to listen, but more maids rushed past him. Then came the small army of the Emperor’s servants. Coyotl pressed against the opposite wall, then quietly sneaked further down the hall. He would be punished severely if caught eavesdropping outside the Empress’s quarters. Being held over the fire filled with chili pepper, inhaling its stinging smoke, was not his idea of having a good time.
His feet took him toward the great hall and the marble columns guarding the entrance. The brilliant light outside beckoned. The patio and the gardens would be utterly deserted at this time of the day, he knew, and he needed the solitude it offered.
Paces light, he ran down the polished stairs, diving into the unmerciful heat of midday, his thoughts a jumble. No, it could not be true. Would the Emperor really dare to put the daughter of the powerful Tepanec ruler aside to favor the sister of the small city-state’s ruler, another tributary of the mighty Tepanecs? Coyotl’s mother was a princess all right; the daughter of Acamapichtli himself, the second Aztec ruler and, in Coyotl’s pri
vate opinion, the most successful ruler that had ever lived. He adored his grandfather, who was reported to be wise and vigorous—a great ruler, great warrior, and great engineer. Coyotl had never been to Tenochtitlan, but he had heard all about the canals and the causeway that connected the city to the mainland. His grandfather, Acamapichtli, was reported to have been personally involved in the planning of all those; and the temples and the Great Pyramid too. Oh, he wished he could see it for himself, could meet this remarkable man.
The gardens swept by, and he hadn’t realized his feet had carried him past the gate until he noticed the royal guard warriors eyeing him indifferently, more concerned with the identity of those trying to enter the Palace's grounds than with those trying to leave it. He was of no significance; just one of the Emperor’s many off-spring, and not even by the noble Empress. It was not their duty to keep an eye on him. There were personal slaves to do that.
But now all that might change, he thought as the dusty alleys swept by. He glanced at the neat rows of stone houses adjacent to the Palace’s grounds, not caring for their colorful beauty. The possibilities of being the first son of the Emperor’s Chief Wife were dazzlingly great. No more slapping from the bad-tempered Tepanec Empress, no more being sent away whenever he wanted to play with Iztac-Ayotl, his half sister, the first daughter of that same Tepanec woman, now only one of the minor wives. Iztac was the best girl on earth, funny and swift, running around, climbing fences and trees like a boy. Maybe he should go back and find her.
When the outskirts of the city swept by, he knew where his feet were taking him. He measured the sun. There might be enough time to climb his favorite hill, the one dedicated to Tlaloc, the Rain God, and still be back for the evening meal.
***
He stood on the slope, breathing heavily. Sweat ran down his back and his face, threatening to penetrate his eyes. He licked his lips, craving a gulp of water. How stupid he was, going out climbing hills in this afternoon heat with no flask attached to his girdle.
Actually, he had no girdle at all. And no cloak. Forsaking his noon sleep and slipping out of the boys’ set of rooms on an impulse, he had planned neither leaving the Palace, nor climbing hills, and now his skin burned, and he was dead thirsty.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to enjoy the view in spite of his discomfort, this vantage point rewarding him, offering him a view of his altepetl, Texcoco, like a wooden, highly elaborate toy, like a drawing on a bark sheet, or maybe this special expensive paper they were making in the Highlands. His father should have built a palace here, he thought, welcoming the slight breeze. It was so much more pleasant up here.
Suddenly, he shivered. The trees up the slope rustled, yet there was no breeze. His heart thumping, he peered into the bushes above his head. Nothing. He might have just imagined it. Yet, his heartbeat refused to calm down. What if someone was out there, watching him? Having no girdle, meant he had no dagger attached to it. He had been a calmecac pupil for more than two summers by now, attending the warriors’ school, allowed, and even required, to carry this simple weapon. Oh, gods. What if there was some beast up there? A jaguar maybe. Or something worse than that. A warrior from the highlands!
He peered into the bushes, frowning. Someone was watching him. Now he was sure of it.
“Come out, whoever you are,” he called, pleased to hear his voice steady and imperious.
There was a silence. Then the bushes parted as a boy jumped down the trail, landing gracefully despite the disadvantage of the slope’s incline. Tall and lean in frame, the boy looked strikingly outlandish, wearing a loincloth and a short cloak, his broad jaw-line adorned by a line of tattoos, his lower lip pierced, sporting a glittering turquoise stone, his eyes large, widely spaced and wary.
“Who are you?” asked Coyotl uneasily, eyeing the obsidian dagger attached to the boy’s loincloth. This boy was no resident of Texcoco or the surrounding altepetls, that much was obvious.
The large eyes narrowed, studying Coyotl’s face with a certain amount of curiosity. “And who are you?” asked the boy, his Nahuatl accented, but good.
Coyotl frowned, stunned by the obvious contempt of the foreigner. “I’m Nezahualcoyotl, the Emperor’s First Son by his Second Wife,” he said, trying to control his temper.
The wide lips quivered. “No way!” The boy laughed, displaying a wide row of large teeth, with the gap of one missing.
“Yes way! How dare you? You are obviously nothing but a savage from the Highlands. How dare you laugh into my face?”
The boy frowned, thrown off balance for a heartbeat. The large eyes measured Coyotl from head to toe. “You can’t be the Emperor’s son, running all over the countryside sweating, sunburned, half naked and alone.” The pointy eyebrows lifted. “Or, if you are telling me the truth, if that’s how the Emperor’s sons are growing, then you, filthy Lowlanders people, are more savages than we are.”
Coyotl gasped, at a loss for words. He stared at the broad, now smirking face, longing to punch it until it lost any trace of contempt. He could fight well enough, trained to use his fists as well as his weapons, yet the boy was armed with a knife, carrying it with an easy confidence of someone who knew how to use it.
The boy laughed. “Hey, don’t turn all red on me. You might faint. Here, have some water.”
The flask offered to Coyotl was dusty and made of skin. He eyed it with disbelief. “I don’t want your water!”
The boy shrugged, eyes flickering with more mischievous derisiveness.
“You know what?” cried Coyotl. “I’ll take your water, but not before I beat you so hard, you will never be able to take it back!”
The smile widened. “You will never manage as much as to make me sway! Not even with my hands tied behind my back!”
The boy took out his dagger, and Coyotl tensed, watching his opponent’s movements alertly, ready to evade the blow, or maybe to run.
“You, calmecac boys, are soft,” said the boy, placing his dagger carefully behind the rock, not in an easy reach. “They are supposed to train you to be great warriors, but all they do is pamper you and make you feel good about yourselves.” He came back to the trail and stood there, legs wide apart. “We, on the other hand, are fighting and hunting as soon as we can walk straight. So who do you think will win this?”
Now, with no dagger in sight, Coyotl felt his heartbeat calming. Watching the boy closely, he calculated his movements. Although tall, the boy was lean and not that well-muscled. He could take him, especially by surprise. Make this one fall, then go for his throat and don’t let him slip aside.
“Your savage fathers may take you out to war as soon as you stop wetting yourself, but this is what makes you into savages. Your people can fight, but they never stop to think, and when you're at war you have to think as well as fight. That’s why you are stuck in your Highlands. That’s why my Acolhua people took Texcoco and all the surrounding areas from your Chichimecs.” He saw the boy’s eyes darkening with rage, losing their confident amusement. It made him feel vindicated. “But why would you know any of it? We are taught history in calmecac, while you are busy making strange noises upon some petty battlefield with another group of other savages.”
As the boy threw himself forward, moving with the same grace he had displayed jumping the slope, Coyotl leaped aside, avoiding the blow. However, either he was not fast enough, or the boy was good. The clenched fist brushed past Coyotl’s ear, making it ring. He reeled a little, but managed to keep his balance. His fingers claws, he grabbed the boy’s cloak, pulling forward so suddenly that they both lost their balance and fell into the dusty road.
All learned techniques forgotten, Coyotl punched and kicked, trying to push off the weight of his opponent’s body. The boy was the one to grab for his throat, and he did it expertly, yet when Coyotl’s knee sank into the softness of his belly, the hands slipped off.
More punches and kicks were exchanged, before the voices of the nearing people penetrated his mind, making him spring to his
feet. Breathing heavily, he eyed the boy’s dusty face and the bleeding lip with satisfaction.
The large eyes met his, reflecting the same sentiment. Then, in one leap, the boy was off the trail, diving behind the rock, grabbing his knife, swift and purposeful.
“Wait!”
The boy turned around, tense and ready to flee.
“They are not coming this way.” Surprised with himself, Coyotl held out one arm. “They are going down the slope. Can’t you hear that?”
The boy listened alertly, eyes narrowing. “Yes, you are right. They are going away.”
“There is another trail. It leads to the villages and the fields.”
The large eyes watched Coyotl, now slits in the broadness of the handsome face. “You know this hill well, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do. I was born here in Texcoco half of twenty summers ago. Enough time to know the place.” He pushed his dusty hair out of his face; the beautiful woven string that held it in place gone.
“But you are not the son of the Emperor.”
“Yes, I am!”
The boy picked the skin flask up off the wet ground and eyed it dubiously. He took a swig, then shrugged and offered the flask to Coyotl. “That was stupid of me not to take it off. But I think there is a little of the water left.”
Coyotl hesitated, then took the flask. The water was tepid, but he emptied it in one gulp. It tasted good. “Thank you,” he said, returning the flask.
The boy shrugged. “So, what was your name again?”
“Nezahualcoyotl.”
“The fastest coyote of them all, eh?” The boy’s lips twisted in a crooked sort of a grin.
“And your name is?”
“Kuini.”
“Just that?”
“No. But that would be enough for you.”
“What does it mean?”