by Clare Bell
She laid her forehead against the wood. The sound of the snakeskin drum vibrated the heavy timbers and the bones in her skull. It beat the message of hunger and thirst, of the god’s need and the end of her life.
Mixcatl knew that more lives than hers and Nine-Lizard’s would end on this day. Though she could not see outside, she imagined the lines of captives who must now be marching steadily to the drumbeat toward the twin stepped pyramids. And from what she had overheard of the priests’ conversations. Wise Coyote had already arrived in the city.
Pushing herself away from the door, she paced restlessly in the chamber. Usually the priests of Hummingbird used the windowless stone room for costuming and ceremonial preparation. She had been moved here from her previous prison so that she would be closer to the altar.
She knew her time was growing short. Soon the priests would come to paint her skin white and then cover her with eagle down before clothing her for the sacrifice.
She sat down on a bench carved from scarlet nephrite, formed in the shape of a jaguar whose back was flattened to form the seat. It stood with paws defiantly spread, head lifted and growling, tail lashing along its flank. High priests and kings had taken their place here, to be draped with feathered robes, gold chestpieces, jade, and quetzal feathers.
Mixcatl fingered the spots, inlaid with a green jade in a pattern of rosettes that closely imitated the true markings of a jaguar. She touched the head of the stone cat. There was a certain irony about sitting here. Though the jaguar statue spoke of reverence to the animal’s spirit, its creators were preparing to destroy one in whose veins its blood still ran.
A wave of anger and grief swept through her and she buried her face in her hands. Again her acute sense of touch brutally reminded her of her birth-curse and she remembered what she had done to Huetzin. Her fingertips touched her temples, then slid up into her hair, tracing the shallow cleft that depressed the crown of her skull.
She felt the lengths of her slanted eyes, her narrow ears laid close to the sides of her head. Her palms cupped her cheeks and her deep jaw, felt the bowed recurve of her lips and the flared nostrils of her short flattened nose.
She closed her eyes, remembering a voice that sounded only faintly in her mind. Wise Coyote. She had walked beside the tlatoani in the gardens surrounding his palace and listened to him. Now the words were distant and quavery in her memory, but still there.
The sun is no bloodthirsty god, Mixcatl, he had said. It is something greater and more powerful than any god could be. And the sun does not need to have the heart torn from your body in sacrifice. That demand is made by men.
Did you lie to me? Mixcatl silently asked the memory of Wise Coyote. Perhaps he had only spoken such words to persuade her to join his own revolt against the gods.
There came the clink and grind of stone against stone and then the scraping of stone against timber. A crack appeared as the barrier was pulled aside to admit a weak shaft of light that backlit a figure who stepped into the chamber. Mixcatl’s throat caught, then she was able to swallow again when she saw that it was not one of the black-smeared, wild-haired priests of Hummingbird on the Left, but the Aztec warrior Six-Wind, who had been assigned to guard her.
He had replaced one of the original complement of guards on the second day of her captivity in the preparation room. It was a shock to see the young boy she had known in the calmecac now grown to handsome and sturdy manhood. Though she had not been able to speak with him on that day, they did manage to trade glances. His look told Mixcatl that his assignment here was no coincidence; and hints that he dropped later implied that her old teacher. Speaking Quail, had come up in position since his days at the school and had been able to influence the choice of guards.
It was also very possible that Wise Coyote, working through the network of spies he had in Tenochtitlan, had contacted Speaking Quail and notified the ex-tutor that one of his former charges was being held for sacrifice. She doubted that she would know how or why Six-Wind had been maneuvered into this position, but the fact that he was with her offered some comfort, if not hope.
Six-Wind stood aside, letting pale light stream in past the barrier. “They have kept you away from the sun for many days. You may come out now if you wish.”
She emerged from the cave of her chamber, squinting against the hazy light and the wind that blew her hair across her face. For a moment she turned, studying Six-Wind as he drew his sword, a wooden shaft set with glass-sharp blades of obsidian. An impulse from the fiercer part of her mind urged her to attack and overwhelm him, but with his sword ready and other warriors nearby to be summoned at his call, she had no chance. Such a death would be a waste.
And it would be a betrayal of her vow never to let the transformation make her kill.
The warrior seemed to measure her, reading that flash of intent that must have shone in her eyes. “Do not betray me, Mixcatl,” he said in the tone of a man much older.
She walked along the carved-stone balcony in front of the preparation chamber, grateful that Six-Wind would allow her this interval of freedom at his own risk. If she had turned on him and he were forced to slay her, he would have been judged as having failed in his task of keeping her safe for the sacrifice. He would join the lines of the victims.
As part of the temple complex, the preparation chamber was set atop its own pyramid. From where Mixcatl stood on the balcony, she could look out over the city, seeing the lime-washed walls of palaces and temples that dazzled unshaded eyes, as if to challenge the brilliance of the sun. Between the massive buildings ran canals which carried more traffic than did the narrow streets. Beyond the solemn grandness of the city’s heart, she could see the spread of adobe houses that ended at the lake surrounding the island that held Tenochtitlan. In the distance, the five great causeways to the mainland appeared like white threads against the midnight-blue of the lake.
She was grateful that the back side of the temple of Hummingbird on the Left blocked her view of the sacrificial ceremonies and that the snakeskin drum drowned the victim’s cries.
“So at last they are coming,” she said, with her back to Six-Wind.
“I wish I could kill you myself,” he said in a rush of words. “I know the swiftest, most painless ways. Those who wield the altar knife…” He could not say more and turned away, his handsome face working. “They should not have chosen me for this, Mixcatl. I have known you too long.” Abruptly he straightened. “Do you want octli? I will have it brought and you may drink as much as you need.”
Mixcatl thought about taking the draught he offered. Octli, made of the fermented pulp of the agave, was strong enough to dull awareness. But dying with her wits muddled like a common drunkard would not be right.
“No,” she said quietly. “I do not want octli.”
She had made her choice and she would go with clear eyes and a steady pace. But the priests had not yet come.
“Is there anything else you wish?” Six-Wind asked.
“I wish to see my friend Nine-Lizard. It is my last request before I am taken.”
She knew that even the Aztecs would honor requests from those who were facing their last hours of life.
“I will do all that I can to bring him,” Six-Wind replied. “You may stay out on the balcony while I am gone.”
She leaned on the balcony, felt the wind on her face, saw the distant shimmer of the lake. With his respect. Six-Wind had given her a small but important gift. For a short time she could be alone beneath the sky and taste freedom.
Wise Coyote followed the two warriors as they led the way down a cramped and lightless corridor. In the torchlight he could see moisture seeping through the stone, telling him that the den holding Nine-lizard had been sunk underground, in the marshy soil about Lake Tex-coco.
The flaming brand lit a doorway that differed from the rest. Instead of a moldering door flap, this one had a rectangular frame of stoutly woven reed and rattan lashed across it. Wise Coyote had never seen such a contrivance us
ed to block a doorway. The thought occurred to him that the chamber was being used as a cage, the same sort of cage as the wooden box that had held Mixcatl.
The guards grumbled as they undid the bindings that fastened the barrier, and slid it aside. Inside the chamber, a stone niche held another torch. Its light fell on the prisoner, an old, balding white-bearded man dressed in a ragged tunic and paint-stained mantle. Nine-lizard.
He saw the old glyph-painter’s eyes widen with surprise, joy and then dismay when he lifted his head. But Nine-Lizard’s expression quickly changed as he took in the situation. About his neck was a filthy wooden yoke, which was tethered by two ropes to a carved stone ring on the wall.
Wise Coyote thought to himself as he entered that Ilhuicamina must consider Nine-lizard a dangerous man indeed if he had to be barricaded into his chamber as well as being yoked and tied to the wall.
The guards stood in the doorway, staring at both of them.
“Leave us,” Wise Coyote commanded.
They exchanged glances, reluctant to depart.
“Ilhuicamina said I was to have privacy while speaking to this man. Barricade me inside, if you wish, but leave us alone.”
The rattan frame was once more bound across the doorway and Wise Coyote heard the guards’ footsteps diminish, then fade. He reached at once to the tethers that held Nine-Lizard to the stone wall, thinking to give the old man the comfort of some freedom.
“No, tlatoani,” the old scribe said softly, laying his hand on Wise Coyote’s. “You do not know how far down the corridor those two have gone. They may still be listening. If I am kept bound against this far wall, it is less likely they will hear.”
Wise Coyote nodded, then knelt down beside the prisoner.
“When I saw you at first I feared….” Nine-Lizard began.
“No. I have walked into the trap, but its jaws have not closed about me…yet.”
“How did you persuade him to let you see me?”
Wise Coyote couldn’t help a grimace. “My suddenly discovered enthusiasm for building monuments to Hummingbird has brought me once again into his favor.”
“You know that Mixcatl has been taken,” said Nine-lizard. “Foolish girl! She sought my freedom. If the transformation had not come upon her, she might have succeeded.”
“Mixcatl is why 1 came.”
“Why did you ask to see me then, instead of her?”
“I need your help.”
Nine-lizard gave a bitter laugh. “It is a little late now, tlatoani. I imagine that you saw the preparations being made for the ceremony. Soon the priests will come for me and Mixcatl as well.”
“It is not too late. Listen,” Wise Coyote said and put his face close to Nine-Lizard’s. “If Mixcatl were to use her abilities, would she be able to escape?”
“Yes. She is the most powerful child I have seen born to the Jaguar’s Children. If she were to transform, no bonds would hold her.” Nine-lizard closed his eyes. “But she will not, tlatoani.”
“How do you know? Perhaps she has not tried to escape because she fears her power is not great enough.”
“She knows all too well how strong her gift is. And how much pain comes from using it. Only her own judgment on herself keeps her in that cell.”
Wise Coyote felt his fists clench. “Nine-lizard, I want you to talk to her. Persuade her to rebel, use her ability to get away.”
The old man regarded him steadily, the torchlight touching red sparks from the brown of his eyes. “Why?”
“What do you mean?” Wise Coyote felt taken aback.
“Why? Is it for her own sake that you want her freed, or your own?” Nine-Lizard’s stare became hard. “You have never given up your mistaken idea that she is some sort of goddess.”
“Is my idea so mistaken? What is a god, or goddess, Nine-Lizard, except an individual who has abilities beyond those of men? How do I know that her gift is not a flickering of true divinity? Even if it is not, it far surpasses any of the poor imitations that have so far been raised.”
“Will it always be so, that you men misunderstand and misuse those who differ?” Nine-lizard hissed. “What do you really want? To raise her up in opposition to Hummingbird on the Left? To use the fear that men will have of her to topple Ilhuicamina from his throne? To breed by her an army of jaguar-blooded sons who can overwhelm the Aztecs?”
“Why does it matter what I want?” Wise Coyote said, trying to keep his voice low. “You said that the Jaguar’s Children need her badly. If she dies, they will have lost a queen and a leader. One like her will not be born again for many New Fires.”
Again he received the steady gaze, undulled by the weariness that marked the rest of the old man’s face. Softly Nine-lizard said, “Perhaps then it is better that they wait.”
Wise Coyote felt his mouth fall open in disbelief. “You struggled to save the girl, to bring her to Texcoco. Why would you now let the chance to save her slip away?”
Nine-Lizard paused. “Do you remember when I spoke to you of the taint that lies within the most powerful of the Jaguar’s Children?”
Wise Coyote recalled the old scribe’s words; how he had described a flaw in the nature of those who bore the jaguar’s blood; a flaw that let the animal nature overwhelm and distort the human when the individual transformed.
“That is the reason?” He swallowed. “You were not certain that she has it. You were willing to send her to that hidden settlement in the south to be trained.”
“I told you that the people there could test and evaluate her for the defect,” Nine-Lizard said quietly. “I did not tell you that if they found her to be so flawed, they would kill her quickly and painlessly.”
Again, Wise Coyote found himself without words to reply. Finally he said, “How do you know that this…flaw…is so deadly that those who bear it must be killed?”
There was a long silence as Nine-Lizard looked up. “I know because I bear it myself.” He gave Wise Coyote a strange grin, half savage, half sad. “I think you have long suspected the truth, tlatoani, but have never been able to accept it.”
“You are one of the Jaguar’s Children.”
“No. I was once, for I have the same heritage as Mixcatl, but I am now outcast. I have never been able to tell anyone my story, tlatoani. Perhaps now that my life is closing, it is time for the truth.”
Slowly Wise Coyote let himself sink from his kneeling position in front of Nine-Lizard to sitting cross-legged on the floor, ignoring the clammy cold of the stone. The old man began to speak.
“When I was a youth, I was as powerful as Mixcatl. As I grew, my people rejoiced. I was the leader they had waited for; I would bring them out of the long decline they had been in since the fall of the great eastern cities. Under my guidance, they would rise again and throw off the rule of mere men.
“A glorious life lay ahead of me. My people awaited my maturity and my first full transformation. But as I approached that time, I found that the beast within threatened to overwhelm me each time transformation approached. I should have spoken of this to my teachers. Instead I kept silent.
“There was a young girl in my village. Her name no longer matters, but to me it outshone every other word. I was not alone in seeking her, for I had a rival, another of the Jaguar’s Children, but not as powerful as I. He watched me keenly, eager to learn anything he could use to discredit me or make me seem an unfit mate to the one I cared for.
“At last, watching with jealousy-sharpened eyes, he learned the secret, the hidden flaw. He accused me of it and I would not admit his words were true. Had they been, I would have been forbidden ever to transform again and barred from the leadership I desired as much as the woman.
“After that meeting, I found myself consumed by fear and rage. I think I went mad, for how else can I explain my decision to kill my rival and get rid of him before he could speak the truth to my teachers and my people?”
“You killed him,” said Wise Coyote.
“When I found him, I wa
s so filled with rage that the transformation threatened. Instead of holding it back, I let it come on with full force. All was blood and rage and confusion.” Nine-Lizard faltered, then found his voice again, sadly shaking his head as he said, “I am told that the strongest among my people had to bind me and drug me heavily to drag me from my last victim and restore me to my human form.”
“Your last victim? How many did you slay?”
“It does not matter. My rival and my love were among them. The elders of my people decreed death for me, but one spoke up and asked for mercy. I was not responsible for what I had done; it was the flaw in my nature. No, I do not know why I was not killed then. Instead I was exiled. I have sworn never again to allow the change and I devoted myself to ways of fighting it back.
“I had been training in glyph-painting while among my people. I used that skill to find a place in the world. It was easy, for the glyphs the Aztecs use are far less elaborate than the ones we had. I found a position at the court of Tlacopan. The rest you know.”
Wise Coyote sat up feeling dazed.
“If Mixcatl is one such as I, it is better that she die on Hummingbird’s altar than transform and lose herself in savagery,” said Nine-Lizard softly.
“But you do not know that she has the same flaw,” Wise Coyote said, feeling panic start to thin his voice.
“I know enough so that I am almost certain. Why else would she have blindly attacked your son Huetzin?”
You have only my testimony to prove that she did, thought Wise Coyote. He closed his eyes. So it had come to this. His lie would condemn the girl, for she had rejected the powers that could save her. And Nine-Lizard would say or do nothing, for he believed that she had the fatal taint.
What if he gave up his lie? What if he told Nine-Lizard that he, not Mixcatl, had gashed Huetzin’s cheek and maimed the young man’s sculpting hand? Would such a confession turn everything around, or was it too late?
As there had been a price for the lie, so there would be a price for the confession. Once Nine-Lizard—and Mixcatl—knew, they would draw back from him, their faces filled with bewilderment, disgust and, worst of all, pity. His image would be shattered, both to them and to himself. The illusion of a gentle scholarly ruler would crumble and reveal a hardened tyrant, no better than the one who ruled Tenochtitlan.