Her brother was.
Huitzilpochtli, the Southern Hummingbird. The youthful, hungry god, dreaming of spilled blood, of row upon row of captives split open and offered up to Him, of barges of tribute following from the five directions of the universe. All that Tizoc-tzin, so wrapped up in his self-aggrandisement, would never be able to give Him.
I closed my eyes. "The embassy failed, didn't it? Huitzilpochtli refused to grant Tizoc-tzin His favour."
"Of course." Pezotic smiled again, and for the first time it eclipsed his fear. "Tizoc-tzin was the only member of the council who didn't come. Of course the future Revered Speaker couldn't be sacrificed like a common victim. And of course Huitzilpochtli didn't like that." He shivered again. He hadn't told me anything of what had gone on in the heartland itself. I wondered what could be more unpleasant than slowly suffocating to death – and decided I could live without knowing.
Tizoc-tzin hadn't come. He hadn't been willing to offer himself up like the others – raw cowardice. I'd never had any personal contact with the Southern Hummingbird, but I could imagine how He would feel about that.
"And the star-demons?"
Pezotic shivered again. "Sacrifices," he said. "Itzpapalotl."
Gods, I could have kicked myself. Itzpapalotl was the Obsidian Butterfly, the living incarnation of a sacrificial knife. And her underlings the star-demons were the same, tools for claiming blood and souls.
It occurred to me that I hadn't heard from the guards in a while; or, indeed, much of anything. I looked back, and wished I hadn't. Teomitl was facing the leader of the warriors, while the other three sat on the ground, looking dazed.
I forced my attention back to Pezotic. "Why come here? It's Fifth Sun territory, isn't it?"
Pezotic shook his head. "Not that. It's the place where order was shaped out of darkness and chaos. The place where the Fifth Sun called the world into being. No destructive influences can come here. I'm safe here." He hugged himself, as if he didn't quite believe it.
"And that's all you know?" I asked, but saw the gleam in his eyes, the unmistakable hints of joy. Something else…
Oh no.
He must have seen the horror dawning in my eyes, the clutch of ice tightening round my heart. "It's not the council that's the problem," I said, slowly. "Their fate is already sealed, the price has already been paid. It's not… " Not the council, but those who had sent them here, those who had to pay for their presumption. Echichilli was dead, and so was Axayacatltzin, but there remained the main instigator of all of this, the man to whom the Southern Hummingbird had refused to grant his favour.
The man who, by now, through cajoling and threatening and bribing and the gods knew what else Quenami could come up with, would have been elected Revered Speaker of the Mexica Empire.
I couldn't remember an instance of a Revered Speaker killed within days or hours of being elected. But, the Storm Lord's lightning strike me, I couldn't even dwell on the consequences. If nothing kept the Southern Hummingbird in check, if nothing sheltered us, if we didn't have His favour anymore…
There were dozens of city-states watching us, waiting for any sign of weakness to launch themselves at our throats like vultures finishing off dying animals, to say nothing of the magical consequences…
We had to get back to Tenochtitlan, and fast, before the worst happened.
Sorting out the conflict between Teomitl and the guards was tricky, but not impossible. It did end up with both of us being "escorted" back to Nezahual-tzin, all but prisoners. They grabbed Pezotic, too, in spite of his protestations. He looked even uglier than before, all hunched back on himself like the Aged Fire-God.
"I'm not sure I understand," Teomitl said. They had confiscated his macuahitl sword; and his face was back to normal, although some of the divine light still seemed to be clinging to his features, a fact I'd once have considered as faintly worrying were it not for the urgency gnawing at my entrails like a fanged snake. "You said we had to keep ready for our escape."
"Yes," I said. "But this isn't the point anymore." The point was getting back to Tenochtitlan as fast as we could, and only Nezahual-tzin could ensure that.
I could foresee a long argument, though.
In the courtyard of our residence, Nezahual-tzin was seated cross-legged in the shade by the columns of the porch. He smiled at us when we came in, with a faint hint of irony. "Welcome back. I can see your day has been fruitful."
"Unlike yours," Teomitl snapped.
"Oh, I should say it has been most fruitful indeed." He pointed to Pezotic, and then back to us, neatly grouping us together.
"This can wait," I said. "We have to get back to Tenochtitlan as soon as possible."
"I don't see why." Nezahual-tzin looked puzzled. "There's hardly anything that would –"
"Tell him," I said to Pezotic. He shook his head, refusing to meet my gaze. Fine. I could do the telling myself.
It was a long story, but Nezahual-tzin didn't interrupt me once. Neither did Teomitl, although his face grew darker and darker as I progressed.
"You're sure about this?" Nezahual-tzin asked, to my welcome surprise. I'd expected him to protest or argue with the same usual enigmatic expression on his face. Instead, he unfolded his lanky frame, and walked closer to Pezotic, who all but hung between two of the warriors like a children's boneless doll. He studied the man for a while. I couldn't see his expression, but I knew he'd be showing nothing of what he felt.
"I won't ask you whether this is true." There was an edge of contempt to his voice I'd never heard before. "Seeing that you'd probably twist the truth any way you saw fit. This is your source, Acatl?"
I nodded. Nezahual-tzin turned back to me. "And you trust him."
"Not at all," I said. "I wish I could discard everything he's told me. But it fits the facts all too well."
Nezahual-tzin cursed under his breath. "I don't see how getting to Tenochtitlan is going to improve matters."
"If we can arrive before Tizoc-tzin is formally invested…" Before they finished the ritual, cemented the link between the Revered Speaker and Huitzilpochtli.
Nezahual-tzin shook his head. "Not going to happen." He raised his gaze heavenwards; his eyes rolled up, revealing the whiteness of nacre. Neither Teomitl or I said anything, all the pawns were on the board now, all the bean dice thrown down, and all that remained to see was how we'd move.
After a while, Nezahual-tzin said, "I still don't see what we can do about it, but you're right. Being at the centre of things is the most important matter right now. We can argue over what to do when we get there."
He looked young and bewildered, an unsettling reminder that, like Teomitl, he was about half my age. For all their connections with their patron gods and goddesses, they had power, but not the wisdom that came with living.
But nevertheless they were my only allies, and the only hope of staving off the Southern Hummingbird's anger.
I caught up to Teomitl on the way to the boats. "You're intending to summon the ahuizotls again." A statement, not a question.
"Yes. It's the only way we'll go back to Tenochtitlan in less than a day." He looked at me, curiously. "Why do you ask?"
I bit my lips, hating what I was about to say. I should have been ruthless, caring for nothing else but the survival of the Fifth World. But– "Last time exhausted you far more than normal. You can't–"
"I know how far I can take it," Teomitl said. "Don't mother me, please, Acatl-tzin. This isn't the time."
"We might not have time any more, anyway," I said. "Nezahual-tzin is right. We might not make a difference."
"We might not. And we might. I'll take that chance. If we don't believe in ourselves, who is going to?"
Even with such grave dangers hovering over our heads, he was still unchanged, still holding himself to exacting standards, still trusting in me as his teacher. "I don't know." It occurred to me that there might not be much more I could teach him, not anymore.
"Then let me try. Or I'll feel I
've done nothing useful."
"You've done plenty. I'm the one–"
Teomitl shook his head. "You and Nezahual-tzin are going to be sitting in that boat, working out a way to salvage what we can out of this situation." He smiled, utterly confident, though I could still see the darkness in his eyes. "I'm sure we'll manage."
I hoped so. But I couldn't find anything like his confidence in myself, and by Nezahual-tzin's sombre demeanour I could tell he didn't have any, either.
Somehow I doubted Teomitl's enthusiasm was going to be enough for all of us.
TWENTY-ONE
The Lord of Men
The journey back seemed to take the whole of an age. Teomitl was at the prow, growing paler and paler; Nezahual-tzin by my side, looking thoughtfully into the water, his group of warriors at our back scowling at us, and the shores of Lake Texcoco never seemed to be growing closer. Before us was Nezahualcoyotl's Dyke. Once there, we would be almost in Tenochtitlan; but it remained a thin grey line against the clear blue skies, never solidifying into anything familiar.
We had left Pezotic under guard in Teotihuacan. As Nezahualtzin had put it, he couldn't bring much in the way of proof, and he would have been a decidedly unpleasant travel companion.
"You know," Nezahual-tzin said, thoughtfully, "I probably won't be any more welcome in Tenochtitlan than you."
What – oh, the arrest. I stared at my hand again, at the mark there that seemed burnt into it, remembering the wet, unpleasant feel of saliva running down my chin and neck. "I know," I said. It shouldn't have mattered. I was High Priest for the Dead; I kept the Fifth World in balance with the heavens and the underworld. I was not supposed to matter this much.
But neither was Quenami, and he acted as though he did, taking charge over us all, steering the Empire in the direction of his personal gain. Acamapichtli was annoying and arrogant, but at least he was honest about his motivations. Quenami would smile and make it seem as though everything would work out in the end for the best.
Which, clearly, it wasn't going to.
"Acamapichtli could help us," I said.
"The High Priest of the Storm Lord?" Nezahual-tzin looked sceptical.
I couldn't help feeling the same way. Granted, Acamapichtli had helped me escape, but he had done so for his personal gain. And, like Quenami, he believed we would pull through with the blessing of the gods, forgetting that it was human sweat and human blood which kept the Fifth Sun in the sky and Grandmother Earth giving forth maize. The gods were no longer the keepers of the universe: They had relinquished that right and duty along with Their ultimate sacrifice, and even my patron god, Mictlantecuhtli, Lord Death, was nothing more than a corpse under a shrine. "I don't like it," I said, finally. "But we don't have much choice."
"True." Nezahual-tzin looked up. The sky overhead was blue and clear, but the stars shone, hundreds, thousands of malevolent eyes waiting for an opening. A thin veil of clearer blue marked the boundary of the Duality's protection. "Whatever you did to slow them down–"
The ritual with Teomitl and Mihmatini. "I thought it would keep She of the Silver Bells out of the Fifth World," I said.
"Yes," Nezahual-tzin. "That's not the question."
My cheeks burnt with embarrassment, or anger. I wasn't quite sure how to react to a fifteen-year-old who acted as though he was my mentor. Did he have so much knowledge, or was he just pretending? "The Duality is the source and arbiter of all gods. The Southern Hummingbird falls under Their purview as well."
"Meaning it will work?"
"Meaning I don't know how long it will hold. But yes, it should work."
I hoped so. It was a little more complex than what I'd told Nezahual-tzin. If Pezotic had told the truth – and much as I would have liked to, I couldn't doubt him – then the deaths of the councilmen were sacrifices. The spell for which they'd given their lives, the journey into Huitzilpochtli's heartland, had already taken place; now the price for it had to be paid. The balance had to be kept. The intrusion of the star-demons into the Fifth World was no worse than that of the Wind of Knives dispensing justice in the name of the underworld. That was why the star-demons had so easily penetrated the palace wards, for it wasn't a summoning, merely a counterbalance mechanism.
The irony was that the one thing we had achieved so far – extending the protection of the Duality – was preventing only one thing, the murder of Tizoc-tzin, the one thing I could, perversely, almost look forward to.
Nezahual-tzin sighed. "Not much of a plan."
"All we have." I looked at Teomitl, who stood rigid at the prow. The dark shapes of the ahuizotls were under the keel and beside it, a spine-tingling escort I could have done without. Ahead, the dyke seemed to have grown slightly larger, but the sun was past its zenith, and plunging towards the murky waters of the lake.
There was still time. There had to be.
We passed the dyke without trouble, and soon found ourselves navigating the canals on the outskirts of Tenochtitlan. As we left the vicinity of the Floating Gardens and found ourselves in the city itself, it soon became clear that something was wrong. The canals should have been bustling with activity, from merchants to water-peddlers, from noblemen being ferried to their friends' houses to priests on errands – but there was none of this. Just the gates of houses, closed against the heat, the boats still at their anchor, bobbing on the rhythm of some huge, unseen breath, the sunlight shimmering in and out of focus on the water like a god's smile.
"We're too late," Teomitl said. He'd let go of the ahuizotls, which we'd assumed would attract too much attention, and was sitting against the prow, breathing heavily.
"That's not possible," Nezahual-tzin said.
Teomitl's eyes narrowed in anger, and then he rested his back against the reeds of the boat wearily. "Do you see any other reason why no one would be here? They're burying Axayacatl, that's what they're doing. If we're lucky. If not, the council has already started debating."
The debates were a matter of form, the real persuasion and ritual preparation having taken place beforehand. Teomitl was right, we were late.
"I'm calling the ahuizotls back," Teomitl said.
"No," I said, at the same time as Nezahual-tzin.
He looked at us, defiantly. "You have a better solution?"
"We'll be at the Sacred Precinct before you know it," I said. "And it's going to be packed with people." And the canals around it, in all likelihood.
"We're–" Teomitl started.
"I know. We're late. That's not the point." As if to prove me that someone, somewhere, was listening, we turned one more canal, straight into the largest mass of boats I had ever seen, a sea of vibrant colours, of flower garlands and feather-fans. The air smelled of incense and pine essence; the streets were packed with a tight mass of people, laughing and jostling each other, all wearing the colourful clothes of festivals.
Teomitl cursed under his breath. His gaze roamed from the boats, so close together they seemed an extension of the land, to the crowd on the nearby street. "Let's get out."
"On foot?" Nezahual-tzin said, but Teomitl was already leaping from boat to boat, elbowing his way through the crowd with the thoughtless arrogance of the noble-born. He was hard to refuse when he got that way, the gods knew I'd experienced it often enough.
Nezahual-tzin threw me a glance, hoping, I guessed, that I would contradict my hot-blooded student. But, much as I hated to admit it, Teomitl was right. There was no way we would manage to get a long, pointed reed boat through that kind of jam.
Not being as athletic as Teomitl, I disembarked and pushed my way through the crowd on land instead. I didn't have my High Priest regalia anymore, but my grey cloak, embroidered with owls, still marked me as a Priest for the Dead, and Nezahual-tzin and his warriors acted with enough arrogance to part the crowd. Together, we elbowed our way through the throng, into street after street filled with people. I had never seen so many. The gates of houses were open, and the courtyards full, the streets jammed, the boats on th
e canals so close we couldn't see the water any more. I could hear drums and the plaintive sounds of flutes, and shell-conches, blown in the distance like a call for the Fifth Sun to rise.
I could see the stars too, could feel the pressure above us, like a giant hand pushing through thin cotton, the cloth drawn taut, on the edge of tearing itself apart. It would hold, I'd told Nezahual-tzin, but I wasn't so sure any more.
The crowds got worse as we approached the Sacred Precinct, men and women brandished worship-thorns stained with blood, held up their children, grinning and laughing, priests played drums and flutes, shouting their hymns to be heard over the din.
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