by Simon Levack
‘TWELVE!’
‘... you may have a chance. Now go!’
I looked at the roof, at my brother’s tense, determined face that was already swinging away from me towards the doorway, at Quail and Handy, standing firm although the swords shook in their hands, at the doorways leading into the interior of the building with their false promise of safety, at Lion once more, and I took them all in so fast I made myself dizzy.
‘THIRTEEN!’
I made up my mind. I could stand here and argue with my brother or I could do as he said. I ran towards the steps as the next number rang out in time to the pulse beating in my head.
‘FOURTEEN!’
I burst onto the rooftop. Lily dashed towards me, a cry forming in her throat, but I waved her away.
‘No time,’ I gasped. I stammered out the instructions Lion had given me.
Kite’s men looked at each other uncertainly.
‘FIFTEEN!’
‘Go on!’ the policeman cried hoarsely. ‘You can’t do anything for me up here. Get down into the courtyard and fight!’
They ran to obey. I started after them, but Lily called me back sharply.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I can’t let Lion and Handy and Quail do this on their own. I’ve got to help,’ I said.
‘You can help me.’
My mistress had her bandaged hands on one of the plant containers that decorated the rooftop patio: pots with mesquite shrubs, maguey plants, prickly pears and other cacti. She was trying to manoeuvre one of the thornier specimens towards the top of the steps. ‘We’ve got to make a barricade. If he comes up here after us then he’ll have to fight his way through a hedge.’
‘SIXTEEN!’
I did as I was told. I dropped my sword and the two of us hauled as many plants as we could to the edge of the patio, with me standing at the top of the steps, dragging the pots, and Lily pushing them as best she could with the palms of her hands.
‘SEVENTEEN!’
The cry stung my ears. ‘Didn’t know he could count up that far,’ I grunted.
‘Will it be enough?’ Lily wondered.
‘It’ll have to do,’ I said. I took a step backwards, surveying the makeshift barricade. I had intentionally put myself on the wrong side of it, meaning to run down the steps to be with my brother. Now it formed a wall between me and Lily, one which, I realised with a pang, neither of us might live to cross.
‘Go on,’ she said brusquely.
‘EIGHTEEN!’
‘And don’t forget your sword!’ She turned away without another word. I opened my mouth to speak, thought better of it, picked up the weapon and dashed back down into the courtyard.
‘Where is he?’ one of Kite’s men was asking.
‘No idea,’ Handy muttered. ‘We can hear that madman all right, but we can’t see him.’
Lion had taken charge, directing Handy, Quail and the others into their positions with a few gestures. Now he and Quail were crouched, on one side of the entrance to the courtyard, with Handy and Kite’s young warriors facing them.
With a silent jerk of the head, my brother summoned me to his side. ‘Keep quiet,’ he hissed. ‘For all we know he might be right outside. When I give the order, I want everyone through the gateway at the same time. Then we spread out. Hopefully we can confuse him, make him waste a heartbeat or two choosing his target.’
I looked ruefully at the sword in my hand. ‘I’ve not used one of these in years. Any tips?’
‘Just hit him with the bloody thing.’
I lifted my eyes to look again at the plaza outside. As before, I saw nothing.
‘NINETEEN!’
The only illumination came from the stars and the little brazier burning at the top of the pyramid.
There was something strange about the light from that brazier. I noticed that it was growing stronger, as though someone had stoked the fire. I wondered briefly what the priest, who ought to be tending it and keeping watch from the pyramid’s summit, was doing: hiding in the sanctuary at the back of his temple, perhaps. Possibly he had had some premonition of what was going to happen tonight and remembered a prior engagement elsewhere.
A peculiar shape seemed to be dancing in front of the pyramid, and for a moment I wondered what it might be, before I remembered the idol that lived at its summit, and the long, grotesque shadow it would cast in the light of the temple fire. The flames’ flickering would make the shadow seem to gyrate, I thought, although it seemed to prance about too vigorously for that.
I felt my mouth suddenly go dry as I realised my mistake.
‘It’s the sorcerer,’ I gasped. ‘Look! Dancing on top of the pyramid!’
‘With my wife’s forearm?’ Beside me, Handy started forward.
I caught his arm. ‘Where are you going? You can’t do anything from here!’
‘But don’t you see?’ He cried. ‘He’s got…’
‘TWENTY!’
Handy fell silent.
I glanced up at the rooftop patio, but could see nothing beyond the barricade of plant pots.
The men around me in the courtyard were like carvings.
There was silence, broken only by the crackling of the temple fire.
The fire was crackling much too loudly.
As the sound grew, becoming impossible to ignore, I found my eyes drawn towards its source.
At first it was hard to make sense of what I saw. The glow at the top of the pyramid was growing, becoming more intense and somehow spreading. From the coals on the brazier, flames and sparks were leaping like frenzied demons, darting up and spreading out, breeding little copies of themselves that in turn flew skywards in swarms, like flies off the surface of the lake in springtime. The glow became a red glare, the idols in front of the temple seeming to stand up before it in strange, distorted postures before the flames swirled around them and engulfed them.
‘I don’t believe it!’ I cried ‘He’s set fire to the temple!’
9
I stood transfixed, my eyes fixed on the sight of the burning temple. I knew, without asking, that anyone else who saw what I was looking at would be feeling the same as I. Shock, fear and despair tumbled into and out of my mind, leaving behind them only a kind of hollowness.
The thatched roof of the shrine had caught now. The crackling had become a roar, as the flames reared up, lighting up the plaza and the surrounding streets. As I watched, there came a loud crash and a sheet of yellow fire enveloped the top of the pyramid: the roof had collapsed.
This was more than an audacious act of vandalism, more even than sacrilege. The captain and the sorcerer had burned the temple. It was the gesture that ended wars, for to seize and destroy your enemy’s temple signalled to both friend and foe that the fighting was over. No Aztec, certainly no man who had ever served in an army, could see it without knowing at once what had happened or to whom the day belonged. That was why they had started the fire. The otomi wanted us to know that he had won, and that there was nothing we could do now but settle with him on whatever terms he allowed.
It was no use hoping someone in authority would notice the fire and come to put it out. Everyone would assume that the parish police would deal with it, or call for help if they could not. But the parish police were helpless, as mesmerised as I was by the sight of their temple in flames. The first sign of movement that distracted my eyes from the leaping flames was the men around me in the courtyard relinquishing their posts to stand together in the middle of the entrance, staring up at the blaze while their shadows danced behind them.
Then came the sound of laughter.
It was unearthly. It was laughter unlike anything I had ever heard before, like a girlish giggle but deep, as if it came from a throat large enough to give it a hollow ring.
I stared at the middle of the plaza.
There was a solitary figure there, plainly visible now in the spreading firelight. He stood quite still, as though rooted, directly in front of the entrance to the p
arish hall. Only his long shadow moved with the flickering flames. No more words came from him but his unmoving presence was like a challenge. It was as if he were daring us to come out and fight him.
I watched, appalled, as Lion prepared to take up the dare.
I did not hear the order. The first I knew of it was when my brother was through the courtyard and racing out into the open, the plaza ringing with his war-cry. The others were close behind him and then, caught by the same urgency that drove them, by the same pent-up anger and fear, so was I, the scream of rage tearing itself free of my throat as I ran.
Nobody remembered their orders. Instead of spreading out, we all ran straight ahead, converging on the lone figure in the plaza like wasps on a honeycomb. Incredibly, we seemed to have taken our foe by surprise. He made no move, even when Lion was upon him, swinging his sword and then leaping backwards to avoid the counter-blow while first one and then the other of his followers ran in to the attack. For a moment our enemy was the eye of a storm of whirling blades and flying blood. Before I got to him he had fallen, hitting the ground with an audible crash.
‘We got him!’ Lion’s cry of triumph rang in my ears as I ran up my comrades. My footsteps slowed as I stared at the scene, taking it in with a mounting horror that made itself known by the churning in my guts and a small, helpless noise forcing itself out of my throat.
Handy yelled: ‘We did it, Yaotl! We…’
I pushed my way through into the middle of the little group around the dead man. I stared at the corpse. It was badly mangled but the face, contorted with agony though it was, was unmistakable. So were the ropes that had been used to secure it and the wooden frame it had been tied to.
I whiled to face Lion. ‘That’s not the otomi!’ I yelled. ‘Where is he?’
My brother stared blankly at me. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It’s Huitztic! It’s old Black Feathers’ steward! They killed him and left him here as a decoy!’ I screamed. ‘Now where’s the otomi? And where’s the sorcerer?’
Even as I posed the question, I knew it was too late.
He had stationed himself against the outer wall of the parish hall, just paces away from where my brother and I had been crouching. Now, while we stared stupidly at the decoy he had set up for us, he sprang his trap.
He did not look like a human. He was a dark shape, casting a shadow that could have been made by an animal, a tree, a tower or a god. But he was moving with more purpose than any animal, coming across the plaza with a measured tread that showed contempt for his enemies in every step he took.
I had never seen him in his full uniform before.
It was not merely a means of distinguishing himself from others or rallying the men under his command. The close-fitting suit of green cotton that covered his arms, legs and trunk like a second skin, the golden bone through his lip and the tall, teardrop-shaped back device, bedecked with green feathers and topped with long quetzal plumes that fluttered and danced in the wind stirred up by the flames: these were a weapon in themselves, as deadly as the sword in his right hand. As he strode toward the middle of the plaza, he knew most of us would be so helpless with fear at the sight of him that he would scarcely need to fight.
He screamed once and charged.
One of Kite’s men did not move at all. The other one did, but far too slowly, and they were still too close together when the madman struck.
The nearest of his victims was on the captain’s left. The sword flew from one hand to the other to be swung deftly into his opponent’s arm before the man had a chance to raise his own weapon. I heard the bone crack. The injured man shrieked and reeled aside. At the same time a kick took his neighbour, a sandalled foot catching him in the midriff while he was still backing away. He fell sprawling, and the last thing he would have seen as he stared helplessly up into the sky was the blades of the sword as they swept down towards his face. The otomi turned back towards the man with the broken arm and finished him off with a single slash.
The rest of us backed away instinctively. I looked out of the corner of my eye at my brother. I saw the way he held himself, with his knees flexed, his feet braced just so, his head thrust intently forward, and there came straight back to me the games he had loved playing as a boy, pretending to be a warrior in our parents’ courtyard. I knew he was preparing to spring.
It was suicide, and I could not let him do it.
I was slightly nearer to the enemy. Without knowing what I was doing, I leapt at him, howling, the sword raised in both hands as I swung it wildly. What had my brother’s advice been?
Just hit him with the bloody thing.
The captain smashed the weapon out of my hands with a blow that numbed my wrists and sent ripples of pain up into my shoulders. The force of the blow made me stagger and set him whirling in a half circle. He was facing away from me when he raked my left leg with the heel of his sandalled foot, driving it downwards in a backwards kick that peeled a strip of skin from knee to ankle and sent me crashing to the ground.
I fell at his feet, writhing in agony, my leg twisting itself uncontrollably as though trying to snatch itself from a fire. The only thing that stilled me was a foot planted heavily in my stomach, pinning me to the ground.
I struggled for a moment and lay still. My breath came in shallow gasps. I was faint and dizzy from shock and pain.
The temple blazed. The flames may have abated a little now, much of their fuel consumed, but the smell of wood-smoke and burned resin from the shrine’s store of incense hung thick and sweet in the air.
When I looked up, I saw the otomi’s face clearly, glistening in the orange light. His few teeth gleamed in his monstrous half-grin.
His horrible four-bladed club was poised over my face. Warm fluid dripped from it onto my forehead.
I could imagine him mulling over which bit of me to cut open first. However, he was not looking at me.
‘That’s right,’ he snarled. ‘Keep backing away. Further than that. Make it far enough and I might kill this piece of offal with one blow. Well, maybe just a couple!’
‘Let him go,’ my brother cried, his voice high-pitched with strain. ‘Let him go and we’ll forget we ever saw you.’
‘It’s too late for that,’ the captain rasped. The weapon in his hand twitched, spattering me with more fresh blood. ‘Do you think I’m interested in running away? You’re the Guardian of the Waterfront, aren’t you? Well, I’m looking forward to fighting you. It’s a long time since I took on anyone who was worth the trouble of killing. Ah... Not so fast!’
I flinched as the blades flashed by within a hair’s breadth of my nose. Then came a cackling laugh.
‘Nearly lost him then!’ the captain cried. ‘Now stand back if you don’t want his end to be any more horrible than it needs to be. I can crush his skull in my own time. If you rush me I’ll wind his guts three times around this club before you even get close! Now, I’ve been looking forward to this, Yaotl, so I do hope your brother doesn’t go and spoil it for all of us... Oh, here comes someone else. Well, I don’t think you need an introduction. You’ve met.’
My head snapped round to follow the captain’s glance.
I could just about make out, against the light of the burning temple, the shadowy figures of my brother, Handy and Quail. Something moved behind them; a fourth figure, shorter and slighter than any of them, mildly stooped and walking with a shuffling gait, which it interrupted every few steps by stopping and spinning around.
It was holding two things. Its right hand grasped an incense ladle, of the kind used by priests, a bowl full of hot coals and smoking copal resin. In its left was a pale object that I had seen before. The captain was correct: the newcomer and I had met, on the night when they had together attacked Handy’s house.
I stared fearfully at the strange figure as it stepped and twirled towards me. Its path took it past Lion, Handy and Quail, but none of them made any move to interfere. They seemed fascinated, like rabbits transfixed by
a weasel.
I dared not speak. Do something, you fools, I mouthed in silent desperation. It’s not as if she’s a real sorcerer!
And then, surprised by my own words, I thought: She?
‘Come to watch?’ the captain smirked.
The sorcerer made no answer. I could only look on with mounting dread as the outlandish creature danced slowly towards me, and past me. It began circling the otomi, stopping behind the great warrior’s back for one more twirl.
‘I wish you’d stop that,’ the captain said irritably. ‘It’s beginning to get on my nerves!’
Still silent, the sorcerer danced away obediently. It was only afterwards, playing the scene back in my mind, that I realised that the left hand was now empty.
‘That’s better. Now, where shall I cut?’ He raised the sword.
From very far away I heard shouting voices and running feet, but all my senses could take in then were those obsidian blades, glittering in the firelight.
I shut my eyes, ready for the impact.
The roar of flames filled my ears. Smoke scorched my throat and stung my nostrils.
An age seemed to pass, and nothing happened.
Was this what death was like, I wondered, waiting forever until the way through the Nine Hells opened up before you?
A piercing, unearthly cry broke out of the darkness around me, a scream of inhuman pain and fury, and suddenly to the smell of blazing wood and thatch was added something new, a bitter, oily reek that I struggled to identify.
When I opened my eyes again, it was to watch my enemy dying on his feet. As he stood, smoke swirled above and around him, and yellow flames and sparks were leaping over his head. The sword, still poised, twitched violently in his hand. He screamed once more, just at the moment when I recognised the smell of burning feathers.