The Highlander

by Zoe Saadia

  Unable even to scream, Kuini pushed with the last of his strength, crawling from under the squirming man. Scrambling onto his feet, still panicked, he rushed back into the moonlit mess of clashing sounds and screaming people, not bothering to retrieve his knife.

  The body he had stumbled upon earlier was still there, blocking his way, and this time he slipped and crashed on top of it. Yet, the fall refreshed him, made his head work again. Pushing himself up, he saw the sword clutched tightly in the dead man’s hand. Fighting the grip of the limp fingers, Kuini pulled on the carved wooden handle. It came out easily, and he hurried onto his feet, suddenly elated, the proud owner of an obsidian sword.

  The battle raged all over the moonlit ground and the surrounding patches of darkness. He saw the Aztec hacking his sword fiercely, powerfully, a lethal weapon in his broad confident hands. The other spotted-cloaks swirled all around, but their enemies were still numerous, pressing their attack, springing out from all over the place, more men pouring in from the darkness of the palace’s gardens.

  Kuini clutched the heavy sword in both hands and did not duck as a tall, thickset man attacked him. Their swords met, pressing against each other, and Kuini’s hands shook, the pressure in his left arm increasing, sending shafts of pain up his shoulder. His opponent was infinitely stronger.

  Disengage and leap aside, he thought, remembering the training with the Aztec. He did just that, wavering, managing to catch his balance, avoiding the razor-sharp touch of his attacker’s obsidian, but barely. Attack, he remembered the Aztec’s voice. Always attack. Don’t let them put you on the defensive.

  He hacked his sword again, reaching for his tall opponent. The man stepped aside too, and then pressed again, clearly seeking an opportunity to engage their swords anew. Kuini leaped backwards, but the trunk of a thick tree blocked his way, scratching his back. Having no way to avoid the confrontation, he blocked another attack with his sword, grinding his teeth in an attempt to hold on. It didn’t help. He had no chance against his much stronger rival.

  Sweat rolled down his face, stinging his eyes. The pain in his left arm became unbearable. He almost stopped breathing in an attempt to hold on, to prevent the inevitable, to slow the approaching obsidian spikes, hating the way they continued moving closer to his face. His chest was empty, and he could not get enough air, his whole being concentrated on the effort to hold on.

  The man laughed. He could see the squinted eyes sparkling, the broad face gleaming with a sense of a victory. Kuini’s teeth gritted, crushing against each other. Then, suddenly, the man’s face changed. An expression of surprise swept over it, reflected in the widening eyes. The pressure of the sword lessened, then disappeared, as the man wavered and went down, toppling to his side.

  Kuini moved his arms, trying to make them work. He could hardly feel them anymore. Taking a deep breath, he blinked as the Aztec’s broad, grinning face swam into his view.

  “Nice work, kid,” The voice reached his ears, full of amusement as always. “But make sure to choose your rivals more carefully. You were too young for that one. In a few years I would bet on you, but not yet.” The large eyes twinkled, moved away. “Come with me.”

  He followed the man, his legs trembling, the aftershock of the confrontation difficult to cope with. The moonlit night was full of spotted cloaks now, but a few were lying on the ground, among the multitude of wounded and killed warriors.

  “How many of them got away?” asked the Aztec, walking briskly among the bodies, studying them.

  The rest of the warriors, blood-smeared and exhausted, but elated nevertheless, followed.

  “Maybe half of twenty,” said someone.

  “I think more,” argued another.

  “Here is one pretty healthy manure-eater.” One of the spotted cloaks dragged out a stunned warrior, bloodied, but not overly so.

  The Warlord grabbed the man by the cloak, pulled him up roughly, slammed him against a tree. “Where did you come from? Who sent you?” he barked.

  The man said nothing, face twisting with pain. The dagger came up, seemingly out of nowhere. The warrior’s eyes widened, following the black glittering blade as it made its way slowly toward his face. The cut it made was long and vicious.

  “Tell me now,” demanded the Aztec once again. “Before I take your eye out.”

  The man swallowed. Eyes enormous, he followed the knife with his gaze. “Wait!” he screamed, when the razor-sharp obsidian nicked his eyelid.

  The knife stopped. “Where are you from?”

  “Texcoco.”

  “How many people?”

  “I… I don’t know… No!” he screamed when the knife pressed again. “Two times twenty of warriors!”

  “What else are you not telling me?”

  The man gulped. This time the knife pressed against his throat. “We are not at war with your people, however dirty your Emperor is trying to play. So I won’t take you as my captive. Your blood won’t be welcomed by our gods.” The knife pressed harder. “I can either kill you or let you go, and I don’t have time for this. Tell me what are you not telling me and do it now.”

  The man coughed as the pressure of the knife lessened. “More warriors… more warriors are waiting…” A gurgle. “On the shores here… On the way to Chimalhuacan too… many warriors.”

  The Warlord pushed him roughly away, and the captive wavered then fell on his back.

  “Well, I suppose we are not as welcome here as we had previously thought,” said the Warlord, curiously unperturbed. “Let us take care of our wounded, then we’ll be off.” Frowning, he led the way back toward the cottage. “We have not enough warriors to fight for the canoes, so we’ll make it for Chimalhuacan,” he said quietly once inside. He turned to Kuini. “We’ll need more of your circumventing paths, kid. Can you help us with those?”

  Kuini took a deep breath. “I think I can find the way to Chimalhuacan, but…” He hesitated. “We will have to go up into the Highlands a little way.”

  The warriors around him murmured.

  “How little? How much time will we spend in the Highlands?” asked the Aztec sharply.

  “About half a day, I think.”

  “Do you know these places well?”

  Kuini swallowed, too tired to think. He didn’t care anymore. “Yes, I know these places well.”

  The penetrating gaze bore into him for a heartbeat, then moved away. “I won’t ask you how you know these places,” said the Aztec with a sudden chuckle. “I’m not sure I want to know.” He straightened up abruptly. “Hurry up. We’ll move before they have the sense to block our way out of this place.”

  Chapter 12

  The sun slipped through the clouds toward the late afternoon as they made their way down the slope. Green with the early summer grass, the trail was not difficult, nothing like the roads and paths leading to Huexotzinco, Kuini’s hometown.

  Yet, their progress was painfully slow. Careful not to make too much noise, exhausted by lack of sleep, hindered by their wounded, the warriors made their way gradually up the moderate slopes.

  Kuini frowned. They would never make it back to the Great Lake’s shores before nightfall, not at such a slow pace. But then, with the fresh Acolhua forces hot on their heels was it not safer to pass the night here, on the low ridges of the Highlands’ edge? He eyed the Warlord slowing his pace, talking to a warrior behind him. Their leader was tired too, that much was obvious. His posture still straight, his bearing as imposing, the leading Aztec's shoulders sagged slightly, and his lips were clasped a little too tightly, his face gray with fatigue. With all the impressive willpower and strength, with all the experience and sparkle, the man was old, reflected Kuini. And maybe also spoiled by many summers of the luxury belonging to his high position.

  “So,” said the Aztec, nearing. “How long before we are out of these ridges? I trust we won’t have to pass the night here.”

  Kuini swallowed. “Yes, it may happen. We are too slow.”

  “Oh,
curse them all into the lowest level of the Underworld!” exclaimed the man. He inhaled loudly through his clenched teeth. “I can’t believe it. I swear I’ll make the filthy Texcoco Emperor pay for this!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Kuini, pitying the man. “Maybe, if we hurry up now…” He measured the sun. “There are only two more ridges to pass.” He shrugged helplessly. No, they would never manage.

  The Aztec’s eyes reflected the same thought. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, making a visible effort to calm down. “Maybe we are safer up here, with those filthy Texcocans proving more efficient than I thought.” He shrugged. “Never make a mistake of underestimating your enemies, kid. A person who does it will usually lose, and he would deserve it greatly.”

  “You haven’t lost yet.”

  The man’s eyebrows lifted. “No, but they’ve got me on the run, and I don’t like it in the least. I haven’t run from anyone for twenty summers and more. Not that fast, anyway.” He sobered again. “I didn’t think they could be so efficient, those Acolhua manure eaters. Who knows? Maybe they can beat the Tepanecs after all.”

  “I hope they do,” muttered Kuini, thinking of Coyotl.

  “Why?”

  Uneasy under the suddenly penetrating gaze, Kuini shrugged. “I like Texcoco,” he said finally. “It’s beautiful and, I don’t know, it’s full of many great things. The pyramids and the temples and the scrolls. And some Acolhua people are good too.” He dropped his gaze. “I don’t know.”

  “Some Acolhua people are good, eh?” The Aztec’s lips stretched into a wide grin. “You are a Highlander, aren’t you kid?” he asked, eyes twinkling. “With a Tepanec for a mother, but still a Highlander all right.”

  Kuini straightened his gaze. “Does it matter?” he asked, not afraid anymore. They were in the Highlands now, and he could get away from these people in a heartbeat, leaving the fierce Aztecs to fight the mountain trails all by themselves. They depended on him now. He was returning the Aztec a favor. Life for life.

  “Oh, it does, of course it does. But mostly because you made me curious. You can be a Big-Headed Mayan as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Then you've still got it figured all wrong. I lied. My mother was no Tepanec and she has never been a slave. She is a Chichimec and so is my father!”

  The wide-spaced eyes glanced at him, startled. “It doesn’t make sense. You look like a Tepanec, and you speak a perfect Nahuatl. You can’t be a pure Highlander.”

  “But I am. I am that!” Kuini took a deep breath, suddenly annoyed. “I don’t know why I look like this, but I have nothing to do with the Lowlanders of either of the Valleys. I should never have come to Texcoco. After all this is over, I’ll go home, back to Huexotzinco, never to return.”

  He stared at the distant ridges, glowing with the purple of the setting sun. His chest hurt. He should never have come to the shores of the Great Lake, never. Coyotl, the Aztec Warlord, even her, the First Daughter of the Second Wife - they were all enemies of his people. He should have kept away from them.

  His stomach tightened at the thought of her, naked in the moonlight or climbing the wall, or laughing into his eyes, so pretty and lacking any pretense, so trusting and innocent. She’d be waiting for him after the market interval was over. She’d trust him to come back as he had promised. And he didn’t even know her name, he realized, a stony fist squeezing his chest. The First Daughter of the Second Wife. They had shared so much in those two days in the Palace, they made love and planned their future together, and he didn’t even know her name. He clenched his teeth tight, turning his face away from the penetrating gaze of the older man.

  “You are a mess, kid,” he heard the man saying, and there was a smile in his voice. “But weren’t we all at your age?”

  They spent the night in the small clearing, keeping their fire low, feasting on berries and roots that Kuini had found. He could have tried to hunt something, but the Warlord decided against it. To hunt and cook would create noises and smells he wished to avoid while roaming the enemy’s countryside with less than twenty warriors, some of them wounded.

  Although hungry, they slept well, taking turns watching the surroundings. Refreshed and full of purpose, they resumed their journey with dawn, spending no time watching the beautiful sunrise that painted the ridges in a variety of magnificent colors.

  Yet, Kuini’s mood did not improve. A strange feeling of being watched haunted him, nagging in the back of his mind. It made his skin crawl.

  The Warlord seemed to be gloomy too. He walked ahead of the party, watchful and tense, face closed, lips pursed, not his talkative old self. Refusing to relax their pace, they made fair progress, reaching the first of the two passes leading back toward the Great Lake and the town of Chimalhuacan.

  The Warlord hesitated, eyeing the narrow gorge suspiciously, straining his eyes against the glow of the midmorning sun.

  “I don’t like this pass,” he muttered, frowning. “Too easy to trap a bunch of tired warriors like us. As a matter of fact, a fresh and bloodthirsty force of ten times twenty of men could be trapped here as efficiently.” His frown deepened. “Is there another path that would allow us to detour this defile?”

  Kuini glanced at the ridges around them, uncertain. Yes, this pass was deep and narrow, adorned by cliffs with footsteps aplenty, dark and ominously calm as though watching the foreigners, as though daring them to try to enter.

  “We can climb this cliff and try to make our way up there,” he said, hesitating.

  The Aztec measured the steep rocks with a glance. “We can’t get both of the wounded up there, and I’m not sure about the rest of my warriors, either. They are no mountain goats to hop up these cliffs with no trail.” He grinned. “They are no Highlanders.” Sobering, he watched the pass, eyes narrow. “Well, it’s not such a long pass and there is this cluster of rocks over there. If someone is waiting up here to shoot at us from behind those ridges, we can take cover behind the rocks.” The man straightened up, resolutely. “Let us get it over with. If we had any choice and any scouts to send, we could go on deliberating.”

  Tall and purposeful, filled with his usual cheerful authority, he went between his men, talking to them, encouraging, instructing. Kuini watched him, stomach churning. If only there was a way to detour this pass…

  The sunlight dimmed as they proceeded down the trail, the steep cliffs towering from both sides, ominously dark, threatening, scowling at the careless intruders. The wind grew, shifting dry leaves and broken branches, raising clouds of dust. Kuini looked up, stomach twisting. They had been watched, now he was sure of it. Not all of the noises were being made by the wind. He glanced at the Aztec, walking alongside, peering at the cliffs around, tense as an overstretched bowstring. Then a decisive expression washed over the broad face.

  “Move faster,” he cried out abruptly. “Keep distance from each other, but head for these rocks as fast as you can. Move!”

  They hastened their step, uncomfortable with the strange request of keeping distance from each other. They were used to doing the opposite, but Kuini could see the reason in the Warlord’s strange request. Spread thinly, they would make more difficult targets. The Aztec knew just everything, marveled Kuini. But for a chance to learn from such a man! He glanced at the wide back and hastened his steps.

  The arrows came shortly thereafter. The vicious hiss tore the air, followed by darts and stones aplenty. The air was suddenly heavy, making it difficult to breath, full of flying objects, swishing shrilly, seeking their victims.

  “Behind the rocks!” yelled the Warlord. “Run behind the rocks.”

  The warriors needed no reminder. They darted for the cover, but did not run straight. Veteran fighters, they raced in zigzags, making themselves difficult targets.

  Kuini hesitated, then dashed after them, heart beating fast. The heavy sword made his progress cumbersome, but he refused to drop it, clutching it in both hands. What would the Aztec think of him if he dropped his sword?

 
The nearest rock towered just ahead when a powerful blow sent him sprawling. Astounded, Kuini pushed himself up, surprised when his right arm refused to react. Clumsily, still clutching his sword, he got to his knees and swayed, the pain in his shoulder exploding, making him gasp. There were footsteps and a strong arm pulled him to his feet, dragged him, swaying, ahead, dumping him behind the nearest rock.

  “Stay here,” gasped the Aztec. “I’ll take a look at you in a short while.”

  The man was gone, not solving the mystery. What happened? Clutching his teeth against the pain, Kuini reached for the source of it. His hand met a wooden shaft, smooth and pleasant to touch, sticking out of the back of his shoulder. In disbelief, his fingers followed it, reaching the point where the shaft turned warm and sticky, pulsating with pain. He tried to think.

  The warriors all around him rushed here and there, talking urgently. Yet, some lay on the ground or sat, gripping their bleeding limbs, their faces twisting with pain.

  He clasped his lips tight. So, he was shot. He had an arrow in his back, but it was not that painful. So maybe he would be all right, after all. He twisted his head, trying to reach for the arrow again. The agony exploded, and he gasped giving up on the effort.

  The attempt to get up was crowned with more success. Avoiding sharp movements and sudden turns of his head, he discovered, he could walk quite steadily. He peeked out from behind his rock.

  Warriors, unmistakably Highlanders with their dark war paint and flowing hair, stood now upon the opposite ridge, waving their clubs, victorious. He could hear them laughing, catching the fragments of their conversation as they stood there, not attempting to climb down. Why?

  He knew the answer to that even before bothering to turn his head. Another group of warriors descended the path from the direction they were heading. He caught his breath. There would be another force, closing their way back, he knew. His heart picked up. Only one leader would bother to trap his enemy so thoroughly. The rest would just charge, but his father was the War Leader of the United Clans for a reason.