Politics. Power-grabbing. Always the same. "I still don't see what that has to do with us. Whoever becomes Emperor will want to maintain the boundaries. They will want the Heavens, the Fifth World and Mictlan to remain separate. They will want us to survive."
The She-Snake spoke up, in a calm, measured tone. "That's what they want to tell you, Acatl-tzin. That the council might dither. That it might not want to confirm Axayacatl-tzin's decision, that of a sick old man whose mind was halfway to Mictlan, after all." The She-Snake's voice carried the barest hint of sarcasm. He had to be one of the other candidates the council was split over; and his adversaries had just embarrassed themselves in front of him.
I thought of the stars overhead, growing larger with every passing moment. It would probably only be a few star-demons prowling the city, but even a few was too many. "If they wanted to dither, they should have done it before the Revered Speaker's death. It's too late now. Every passing day, the stardemons draw closer to us." There would be remnants of Huitzilpochtli's protection, tattered pieces, so easy to grind down to nothingness. There would be wards, such as the ones in my temples, drawn by devotees of other gods – the Flower Prince, the Feathered Serpent, the Smoking Mirror… But nothing like the impregnable wall that had been in place during Axayacatl-tzin's reign.
"Nonsense," Quenami said. "In the chronicles, they sometimes took entire weeks to decide on a new Revered Speaker. It never seemed to harm anyone."
"This is not a good time," I said. "The moon grows closer to the sun. The calendar priests have been warning about an eclipse for some time. We stand in its shadow, and this means that star-demons will be able to breach the boundaries." As the moon loomed closer to the sun, eating into its radiance, She of the Silver Bells, the moon goddess, grew stronger; and her brother, Huitzilpochtli, our protector, weaker. "In previous reigns, perhaps we were made of stronger stuff," I said, a slight jab at Acamapichtli and Quenami, who didn't react. "But today we are weak and defenceless. I have seen stars tonight, bearing down upon us. They are already coming to us. Have you ever seen a star-demon, my lords? You wouldn't laugh, believe me."
They were all looking at me with mild interest, as if I were trying to sell them a mine of celestial turquoise or a quarry of underworld jade. They didn't care. They thought it was an acceptable risk, so long as the end result allowed them to rise to greater power and influence.
They disgusted me more than I could express in words.
"My lords," I said, bowing. "I will attend to the body, and leave you to the mundane matters–"
I never finished the sentence. The entrance-curtain was cast aside in a discordant sound of bells slammed together, and someone strode into the room. "Acatl-tzin!"
"Teomitl?" My student, who also happened to be Axayacatltzin's and Tizoc-tzin's brother, wore more finery than I'd ever seen on him, a gold-embroidered tunic, a quetzal-feather headdress, and black and yellow stripes across his face. He clinked as he moved, from the sheer weight of jade and precious stones on his body.
Both the High Priests and the She-Snake bowed to him, deep. Tizoc-tzin had many brothers, but, should he attain the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown, Teomitl was likely to be anointed Master of the House of Darts in his stead, heir apparent to the Mexica Empire. Ignoring him would have been a mistake.
Teomitl made a dismissive gesture. "There's no time for pomp. Acatl-tzin, you have to come. Someone just killed a councilman. In the palace."
TWO
The Moon Hungers to Outshine the Sun
The murdered man did not live in the Imperial Chambers, or in those of the high nobility: his rooms were as far down the palace hierarchy as they could be without it being an outright insult. They were on the ground floor, opening up onto a small courtyard away from the bustle of palace activity with a very simple fountain to make up the garden. The walls were decorated with rich frescoes, but without the outright ostentation that marked the imperial family.
Somehow "killed" seemed a deeply inaccurate description of what had been done to the councilman. To say that he had been torn apart would also have been an understatement. There was no body left, not as such, just an elongated, glistening mass of bloody flesh with bits and pieces of organs spread all over the stone floor. Something which might have been an arm lay outstretched on one of the wicker chests; something else coiled around the braziers, and on the reed mat, lay the two globes of the eyeballs and an elongated shape that had to be the rippedout tongue, somehow the most uncomfortable detail in the whole mess. A small obsidian knife lay near an out-flung hand, preceded by a trail of red.
Blood stained the room, stains of various sizes, all the way down to small drops marring the frescoes. It had not been quick, or easy.
Ordinarily I would have knelt, closed the body's eyes and said the death rites; this time, it seemed like the body was scattered over the whole room. So I just stood there, and said the prayers I always did.
"We live on Earth, in the Fifth World
Not forever, but a little while
As jade breaks, as gold is crushed
We wither away, like feathers we crumble
Not forever on Earth, but a little while…"
Teomitl waited until I had finished before he spoke up.
"What do you think killed him?"
Given the remains, it was unlikely to be anything human. "Whatever you choose," I said, angrily. I hadn't expected the evening to go wrong, so fast. "Anything could have done it. With your brother dead, we're wide open to whoever feels like summoning creatures."
"Acatl-tzin," Teomitl said, with an impatient shake of his head. "I'm on your side, remember?"
I sighed. "Yes. I know."
The She-Snake had left after only a cursory glance inside; apparently he was going to interrogate the guards to know how such a thing could have happened. I'd sent Palli back to the temple to bring back priests and supplies, and begin the rituals over the Emperor's corpse.
The two other High Priests were outside trying hard to hide their nausea. Ironic, considering that they'd officiated at so many sacrifices. But the offerings to the Southern Hummingbird simply had their hearts removed and those to the Storm Lord were drowned. There was blood, but not that kind of butchery.
My order, on the other hand, dissected dead bodies to know how they died. This much frenzied bloodletting was unfamiliar; but the contents of a human body were almost like old friends.
And this particular one…
I knelt by the side of the largest mass, staring at it for a while with my priest-senses. "Tell me about him," I said. "The dead man."
Teomitl spread his hands, a little more defensively than I'd have expected. "Ocome. A minor member of the imperial family, perhaps descended from a Revered Speaker three, four generations ago. The blood ran thin."
"That's not really helping," I said, not looking away from the scattered flesh. Magic still clung to the room, the memory of a memory, faint and almost colourless, as if something had washed it away. "Any family?"
"Distant, I think. Ocome's wife died a while ago, and his marriage had not been fruitful. He'd be by far the most unsuccessful member of his family."
Aside, of course, from the position on the council.
So, probably not personal. I didn't feel any of the hatred which accompanied summonings done for vengeance. "Anything else?" I asked.
"Ocome was always trying to work out which side would win, so he could join them and be elevated still further." Teomitl spat on the ground. "No face, no heart."
"And lately?"
"He'd been supporting Tizoc," Teomitl admitted grudgingly. "Though it hadn't been for long."
Great. A professional waverer. His death was a message, but it could easily have been to Tizoc's side as to any of the other factions. Continually shifting allegiances meant Ocome must have made many enemies – not much to be gleaned from here, not until I had a better idea of the sides involved.
"Hmm," I said. I fingered a spot of blood on the ground thoughtfu
lly. Outwardly, everything seemed recent, except for the magical traces, which had faded much faster than they should have. "How long ago would you say he died?"
Teomitl had been standing by the entrance to the courtyard, looking away as if lost in thought. He turned towards the room, quietly taking in the scene, utterly unfazed by the gore. But then, he was a warrior who had already seen two full campaigns. He, too, had seen his share of mutilated bodies.
"They're clean wounds, and the blood is still pretty fresh. Two, three hours ago?"
The man had died in battle, no matter how unequal it had been. As such, his soul was not bound for the oblivion of the underworld but into the Heavens to join the dead warriors and the women lost in childbirth.
However, something bothered me about the body. The magic should not have been so weak. There could have been some interference from the wards, but the way it read seemed to indicate that the body had barely been alive in the first place – as if he'd come here wounded or already dying.
I supposed he could have been torn apart after his death; and, given the state of his body, we'd never know if he'd died before or afterwards. But most supernatural creatures didn't mutilate dead bodies. They found their thrills in the fear of the hunted, their power in the suffering of the tormented. Dead men could neither fear not suffer.
A human could have managed this, I guessed, but not easily. It would have taken time, and a great deal of dedication.
I could, however, think of a particular creature whose habits fitted this all too well, down to the fading magic over the remains.
And, the Southern Hummingbird blind me, I didn't want to be right. The star-demons couldn't be here, in the palace, not yet…
"I need your help," I told Teomitl. "Come over here."
He bounded over to me in a clink of jewellery and stood over a relatively clean patch of stone. He had magic wrapped around him like a cocoon, an intricate network of light that marked Huitzilpochtli's protection. It was that magic which I planned to tap in order to ascertain whether the councilman's soul had indeed fled into the Heavens. And, if it hadn't…
No, better not to think on the consequences of that now.
For the second time in the night, I slashed my earlobes open, and spread the blood around us in a quincunx, the fivefold cross, symbol of the beleaguered world of mortals. Then I started a chant to Tonatiuh, the Fifth Sun, the Southern Hummingbird's incarnation as the supreme light.
"Dressed in yellow plumes
You are He who rises, He of the region of heat
Those of Amantla are Your enemies
We join You, We honour You in making war…"
I slashed a wound in the palm of my hand, extended it to Teomitl, who had done the same. As we held hands, our blood mingled, trickled on the ground as one.
"Dressed in paper
In the region of dust, you whirl in the desert
Those of Pipitlan are Your enemies
We join You, We Honour You in making war…"
Light blazed across the pattern, spreading inwards, until it seemed that it would smother Teomitl for a bare moment, before his protection sprang to life again, an island of light within the light. Everything else faded into insignificance: the room, the frescoes, the grisly remnants outside and inside the circle. The colours were swept away, merged into the light; the faces of the gods and goddesses became the featureless ones of strangers.
The air was growing warmer, the ground under our feet was the red sand of the deserts, and a dry, choking wind rose in the room.
In the light was the huge visage of Tonatiuh the Fifth Sun, His war-painted face melding with that of a beast, sable hairs sprouting around His sharp nose, His cheeks still bearing the scars of His original sacrifice, His lolling tongue dripping blood. His eyes, slowly opening, were twin bonfires wrapped around the huge, hulking shape of a human being: the god Himself, still burning after all that time, endlessly burning to offer light and warmth to Grandmother Earth.
His gaze rested on us – a touch more searing than that of the wind – before moving away.
The wind died down, the desert retreated into the yellow stone of the room; the world sprang back into painful focus.
I exhaled burning air, gasping for the freshness of the mortal world. Teomitl's knees had buckled, and he was slowly pushing himself up again, with angry pride on his face. "Not a careful god," he said.
"No," I said. Teomitl pushed himself hard, but in return he demanded high things from everyone around him, gods included. "But that's bad."
"What?"
"He wasn't looking here," I said, trying to forget the icy void opening in my stomach. "No more than at any other place. It's not sacred ground. No soul has ascended into Heaven from here."
Teomitl looked puzzled. "The body…"
"I know," I said. In my head was running a chant we learnt in the House of Tears, the school for the priesthood: The moon hungers to outrace, to outshine the sun; the stars hunger to come down, to rend our flesh; the stars hunger to fall down, to steal our souls… "It's a star-demon, and it has his soul."
"That can't be–" Teomitl started. "They…"
They couldn't come here, not unless summoned; and, even then, it would require at least the lifeblood of a human being, spilled by a strong practitioner, in honour of a powerful god. We had a sorcerer loose in the city, one who wished no good to the Mexica Empire.
And then another, horrible thought stopped me. What if it was no sorcerer?
What if She'd got free?
"Come on," I said to Teomitl. "We have to check something. I'll explain when we get there."
To my apprentice's credit, he followed without demur, though I could feel him struggling to contain his impatience as we strode out of the palace.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"The Great Temple." I headed back towards the Serpent Wall, though not before looking up. The stars were still there, still reassuringly far. It had to be a freak occurrence, had to be someone taking advantage of the current power vacuum to loose fire and blood upon us.
"You want to pray?" Teomitl shook his head. "This hardly seems the time, Acatl-tzin."
"I'm not planning to pray," I said. The Sacred Precinct opened up in front of us. Directly ahead was the Jaguar House, reserved for elite warriors, still lit up, with snatches of song and perfume wafting up to us. And, further down, the mass of the Great Temple, looming in the darkness like a mountain. "I'm going to make sure we don't have a bigger problem on our hands."
"In the Great Temple?" Teomitl asked. "It's just a shrine."
I shook my head. "Not only that."
Teomitl started to protest, and then he shook his head. His gaze turned towards the bulk of the Great Temple pyramid, looming over the rest of the Sacred Precinct. A fine lattice of light rose around the stone structure, flowing over the stairs and the double shrine at the top two mingled radiances, the strong sunlight of Huitzilpochtli the Southern Hummingbird, and the weaker, harsh one of the Storm Lord Tlaloc, tinged with the dirty white of rain clouds.
Teomitl's face twisted. A pale, jade-coloured cast washed over his features, until he seemed a carving himself. He was calling on the magic of his other protector Chalchiuhtlicue, Jade Skirt, goddess of lakes and streams. His gaze went down, all the way into the foundations of the Great Temple "Oh," he said. "I see."
What mattered was not the temple, it never had. What mattered was what it had been built on, Who it had imprisoned since the beginning of the Mexica Empire; a goddess who was our worst enemy.
• • • •
It was the Hour of the Fire God, the last one before dawn; and the priests of Huitzilpochtli were already climbing the steps, preparing their conch-shells and their drums to salute the return of the Fifth Sun. The priests of Tlaloc the Storm Lord, much less numerous, had gathered to offer blood in gratitude for the harvest.
Neither order paid much attention to me or Teomitl; their heads turned, dipped in a bare acknowledgment – tin
ged with contempt in my case, for they knew all too well what their own High Priests thought of me.
We climbed up the double set of stairs that led to the platform at the top of the pyramid, feeling magic grow stronger and stronger around us, the Southern Hummingbird's magic, a fine mesh of sunlight and moonlight slowly undulating like satiated snakes, descending around us, mingling with Teomitl's protection, resting on my shoulders like a cloak of feathers. It hissed like a spent breath when it met Lord Death's knives at my belt, but did not do anything more. A relief, since Huitzilpochtli's magic, like the god Himself, could be violent and unpredictable.
Atop the temple were two trapezoidal shrines, one for each god, from which the pungent reek of copal incense was already rising into the sky. Slightly before the shrines the stairs branched. On a much smaller platform to the right opened an inclined hole, the beginning of a tunnel that descended into the depths of the pyramid. The entry was heavily warded, with layer upon layer of magic, bearing the characteristic, energetic strokes of Ceyaxochitl, the old woman who was Guardian of the Mexica Empire, and the subtler ones of the previous priest of Huitzilpochtli. They parted around us, though with a resistance like the crossing of an entrance-curtain.
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