by Clare Bell
Wrapped in her mantle, she stepped out of the nest of fur. Poor Wise Coyote. He had already coped with the results of jaguar behavior in Tepeyolotli’s throne room. Or at least his servants had. Now there was all this shed fur.
I may have to go to the Jaguar’s Children just to learn how to clean up after myself. She caught herself, thinking about the events that had happened the previous day. Considering everything that has happened, I probably will not go, at least for a while.
She was sweeping up handfuls of the fur when Wise Coyote came in, told her not to worry about the mess and invited her to share his breakfast.
The honeyed amaranth cakes were tasty and helped soothe her uncertain stomach. Her temper felt a bit uncertain too. How many times had she said that she would refuse to play the role of a goddess; and now…
“How long was I asleep?” she asked.
“A little more than a day, but worship of the Jaguar is already growing. You already have a number of new shrines in Tenochtitlan and an image of the Jaguar is being carved to stand atop the pyramid.”
At his use of the word “your,” Mixcatl grimaced. “Those shrines are not mine, tlatoani. Tepeyolotli was worshipped long before I came to Tenochtitlan.”
“The divine jaguar underlies much of Aztec religion. By becoming Tepeyolotli, you have tapped that undercurrent and brought it to the surface.”
“But is it right to pretend to be something I am really not? It is as if I am misusing my gift.”
Wise Coyote stroked his chin. “What you are really saying is that/am misusing your ability. Am I right?”
Mixcatl sighed. “I am sorry, tlatoani. I do not wish to seem ungrateful, but I do feel that way. If you had not shouted to the crowd about a new god, I would not have felt compelled to become one.”
“I admit that I took some advantage of the situation. I did not have much choice. We had to destroy Hummingbird or he would have devoured us.”
“And Texcoco as well.”
His eyes became intense. “I have never disguised my love for my city, Mixcatl. To preserve Texcoco, I have done a great many harmful things in my life. Both you and Huetzin are witness to that.” He drew a breath. “I will take responsibility for what has happened, although I must point out that your decision to transform was the event that sparked all the others.”
“If I had not, you and Nine-Lizard would have died along with me. All right, I agree that it is useless to argue. We are both responsible. What bothers me is the question of whether what we did outweighs the way we did it.”
“It is not only a question of what we have done,” said Wise Coyote seriously, “but what we must continue to do in order to keep the gains we have won.”
“Is that a way of asking if I will keep becoming Tepeyolotli? For now, yes, as well as I can. Remember that my ability is still unpredictable.”
“But you are still not comfortable with the idea.”
“To be honest with you, no.”
The king got up. “Come with me.”
She joined him, letting him lead her out of the room, across the hallway and into another chamber. The room had a large open window that looked out toward the sacred plaza and the stepped pyramid. She leaned beside him on the wide sill.
“Smell the air,” he said softly. “There is no taint. No smoke rises from the burning of flesh.”
She breathed in the air, still fresh with dew. Across the sacred plaza, the huge pyramid stood without its usual pall of black smoke.
“The priests of Hummingbird have been put to work scouring out the stains of their excesses.” Gently he put his hands on her shoulders. “Ilhuicamina sent out orders yesterday that all wars for captives are to be stopped. What we have both longed for is happening. And we are not the only ones. Many people in the city are rejoicing because the burden has been lifted.”
“You are trying to seduce me with the good we have done,” she said, feeling herself weaken.
“I am not trying to persuade you that the end justifies the means. I am saying that this end is good and worthy. Perhaps a way might be found to make the means less onerous.”
He let his hands slide down her shoulders to her arms. They felt warm and kind and she let herself lean against him.
“Ilhuicamina,” she said softly, watching the sun cast a brilliant glow on the pyramid.
She turned her head to look Wise Coyote in the face. He bit his lip. “I wanted to kill that man. Badly. You stopped me when you took the blade from my hand.”
She chuckled. “King of Texcoco, you are a clumsy liar. And you underestimate the keenness of jaguar sight. You put down the knife when he opened his eyes and stared at you. Not when I took it.”
There was a silence. “I plead guilty as charged,” he said finally. “I am finding it harder to kill these days. Perhaps it is because my aim is bad. When I wield the knife, I strike myself.”
And those wounds still bleed, she thought, knowing he would always have to live with what he had done to Huetzin.
“Do you regret that Ilhuicamina is still alive?” she asked.
“No. We took the wiser course in sparing him. His death would have thrown everything into chaos. This way we can work through him. I have no wish to destroy the Aztec state. I only want to turn it to a new path.”
Again she fell into a puzzled silence. When Wise
Coyote asked what was troubling her, she said, “I am just thinking about what a contradiction I am. I turn into a jungle beast, yet when I have been faced with killing, I have drawn back from it.”
“Perhaps when you are a beast, you cannot kill the way men do.”
“Perhaps,” she answered, wondering what would happen if she were in cat form and had to hunt for food. She imagined that was one of the things she could learn from the Jaguar’s Children. Somehow she would have to get the training she needed, but how?
She could not leave Wise Coyote. Wise and clever as he was, he could never accomplish the changes he wanted without Tepeyolotli’s presence to back him up. Perhaps Latosl or some others of the Jaguar’s Children might come here in order to teach her. However, having other shape-changers around might bring its own problems. Tepeyolotli’s power at this point depended in part on her uniqueness.
“We cannot stay here long,” said Wise Coyote regretfully as he slackened his embrace. “We have much to do. I need to speak to Ilhuicamina this morning.”
Mixcatl leaned on the window ledge, feeling the wind stroke her hair. “I find it difficult to believe that he has come completely over to our side.”
“I share your skepticism. I am not sure that he really has.”
“Then how…”
“Remember his fear of gods, Mixcatl. Now that Tepeyolotli has proved more powerful than Hummingbird, Ilhuicamina bows to the Jaguar.”
“And my role is to make sure that he keeps doing so.” She tried to keep the distaste out of her voice.
“For the present, yes,” said Wise Coyote. “I think he actually is relieved that he does not have to provide such huge sacrifices, but he is fearful that lesser offerings will fail to satisfy divine hunger. Until he and those about him become comfortable with the changes, Tepeyolotli’s presence will be needed.”
Mixcatl frowned, remembering what Speaking Quail had taught her.
Nothing is born, nothing endures, without sacrifice.
Even though the hungry sun god had been thrown down, this truth still stood at the center of belief.
“You do not wish to abolish the giving of ‘precious water,’ completely, do you?” she asked, feeling uncomfortable.
“No,” Wise Coyote answered. “Our people would not accept that. I am not sure that I could accept it either. Although I worship Tloque Nahaque, I believe that giving life to other gods is necessary to maintain our world. Perhaps the world will change, and then there will no longer be a need, but many New Fires will pass before that happens.”
Perhaps it will be the nature of the sacrifice that changes, Mixcatl mused. Mayb
e it will no longer be the spilling of blood at the altar, but something else.
A name whispered softly in her mind and the image of a young man’s face came into her memory. Huetzin. She closed her eyes, feeling the ache of a familiar pain. She wanted to see Huetzin again, but did not know if she could bear it. Besides, he was far away across Lake Tex-coco, being tended by healers.
“Are you thinking of my son, Mixcatl?” Wise Coyote asked softly.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“I have sent for Huetzin. I meant to tell you,” he added as she stared up at him in astonishment. “The healers who are tending him will bring him to Tenochtitlan in a few days.” He paused and said softly, “You are not the only one who needs to speak with him.”
“Are you afraid…to tell him…what really happened?”
“Yes. Very much afraid.”
“I am too,” Mixcatl said, looking into Wise Coyote’s eyes. “Even if he knows I did not attack him, he won’t be able to forget the horrible thing that I was that night. And even though the change will not be as terrible, it will still happen. What will he think when I walk before him as an animal?”
“He will know us as the beasts we truly are, both inside and out,” said Wise Coyote, his gaze steady. “And if he turns away in fear or distrust, we must bear that pain.”
Mixcatl looked at the man with whom she had come to share such a strange kinship. Silently she slipped her hand into his and they walked together from the room.
A few days later, she sat on a finely made mat in the quarters that had been given to her. They were located near the throne room where she, as Tepeyolotli, had received adoration and offerings. Now that the image of the Jaguar was complete and in place within the temple that had housed Hummingbird, she hoped that the faithful would take their gifts there.
Between her hands, she held the statuette of the transforming Olmec shaman. Wise Coyote had rescued both Olmec images from the preparation room and had put them on a low table in her chamber.
She stared at the statue, wishing it had answers for her. Huetzin had arrived earlier that day, but stayed in seclusion, attended only by his healers. Soon Wise Coyote would come by to take her to see him.
She started to replace the statue on the low table, then hesitated. At the sound of the door cloth being drawn aside, she turned her head. Wise Coyote beckoned silently. Huetzin was ready to see them.
Carrying the Olmec carving in her hands, Mixcatl joined him. She glanced at the king as she walked beside him to the chamber where the youth and his healers were staying. He had noticed the statuette, but he did not object or ask why she had taken it.
Nor did he ask if she wanted to go in before or after him. She felt the unspoken but powerful agreement between the two. They would go in together.
“This is the chamber,” said Wise Coyote quietly, but she already knew from the scent of unguents and medicinal ointments drifting out from behind the door flap.
As she walked in she saw several white-robed elderly men sitting together to one side, the healers to whom Wise Coyote had entrusted the care of his son.
Huetzin was sitting cross-legged on a mat, his bound right hand lying in his lap. His head was up, but the gaze of his deepset eyes was cast down, as if he refused to pay attention to a world that had turned on him so savagely. He looked thinner than when Mixcatl had last seen him and the rich bronze of his skin had paled. The carefree openness of his face that had drawn her to him was gone, replaced by the shadow of pain and defeat.
At first Mixcatl thought Huetzin would not even look at her, but slowly his head turned, bringing the scars on his right cheek into view. Mixcatl felt a jolt of shame at the sight, even though, she reminded herself fiercely, she was not the one who had made the wounds. She glanced at Wise Coyote for his reaction, but saw only a twitch of bruised skin beneath the king’s eyes.
Then Huetzin’s blank gaze sharpened. A flicker of fear crept across his face, his body stiffened, his shoulders hunched. Mixcatl felt an upsurge of dismay that nearly sent her running from the chamber. He remembered her…and was afraid.
She stood stiffly, not wanting to watch as Wise Coyote approached his son. knelt before him and took both of Huetzin’s hands in his own.
The youth lifted his head slowly, as if he found it difficult to rise from the despair that claimed him.
“Your wounds are healing,” the king of Texcoco said, touching Huetzin’s cheek and running his fingertips lightly along the youth’s jaw. “Have you tried using your right hand?”
Huetzin only answered dully, “It is a useless lump of clay.”
“No, it is your hand and it is healing,” said Wise Coyote, and Mixcatl could not help hearing the helplessness in his voice. “Here. Perhaps if I unbandage it, you will see.”
At this point, an old healer, who had been sitting to one side, shuffled over to the king. “Lord, I would not advise that.”
“Why? You told me that the wound was mending well.”
“That is true,” answered the healer, “but the hand has lost ability that we have not been able to restore. When the young man discovered that his fingers would not close about a stone chisel, he could no longer bear to look upon his hand.”
Mixcatl bit her lip hard to keep it from trembling. Huetzin had been so strong, so full of life’s joy. To see him broken like this was more than she could stand.
She listened as Wise Coyote tried to use reason to convince Huetzin that he could learn to use his hand again. The king’s words grew more desperate in the face of his son’s tortured gaze, then his voice grew husky and fell silent.
Again Mixcatl felt the urge to flee from the room, an urge so strong that she had started to move. She forced herself to turn back.
She saw that her motion had caught Huetzin’s attention. His gaze fixed on her. Again fright crossed his face, but it warred with a remembered tenderness.
Huetzin swallowed, touching the scars on his cheek. Then, with the fingers of his left hand, he raised the bandaged and useless right one and cried, “Where is my hand?”
“No, Huetzin!” Wise Coyote tried to interrupt, but Mixcatl quickly strode in front of him and knelt down before the youth. In the background she heard Wise Coyote asking the healers to leave the room. Again memory lit Huetzin’s face and he reached out for her, then drew back. Love and fear fought in the depths of his eyes.
He murmured, “Looking upon you is like turning my face to the noon sun, with its golden warmth. Yet it can turn so black. You were the flayed thing that ran at me—I know because it had your eyes. Or was it not you at all, but another nightmare?”
“Huetzin,” said Mixcatl, trying to keep control of her voice. “What you saw that night is the truth. I was that creature. I could not control the change. When you saw me, my skin had fallen away and I was only half-transformed.”
“No wonder your eyes were maddened with pain and you did not know me,” Huetzin muttered. “If I touched you now, would my fingers go right through? Are you goddess or demon?”
“I am neither. I am just…different. And I swear that I did not attack you. I ran at you and frightened you into a faint, but then I turned away.”
Huetzin lifted his bandaged hand. “Then if you did not do this, who did?”
The silence became long and empty. For an instant, Mixcatl feared that Wise Coyote would not speak. Then she heard the king’s voice, weighted with sorrow.
“I did, my son.”
Huetzin turned his head slowly. Shock and disbelief filled his eyes. “You…no, you are my father, you could not…”
Wise Coyote struggled to speak. “Huetzin, listen to me.”
“No,” Huetzin said, but his protest was growing weaker, as if the unwanted knowledge were forcing itself upon him. He stared at Wise Coyote as if he could not bear to take his eyes from his father’s face.
Mixcatl heard the king’s voice harden. “When I came upon you lying in her embrace, I could not bear the sight. I slashed your face five times
with my knife, as if a jaguar had clawed you. Twice I stabbed down in anger, not looking at which hand I struck. And then, when the knife had gone into flesh, I saw; but then it was too late.”
Huetzin’s gaze turned to Mixcatl.
“You…were not the one who hurt me….” he whispered.
“No,” she answered. “I was not.”
Huetzin’s stare turned to his father and she watched the young man struggle with a truth that seemed more terrible than any punishment decreed by gods. At last he asked, “Why do you tell me…now?”
“Because when I look upon you, it seems as if my knife has pierced your heart, not your hand.”
Mixcatl knew that Wise Coyote’s self-accusation was bitterly true. Crippling the hand of another man—a farmer, a fisherman, even a warrior—would not have caused such a steep decline. They would have raged, wept and then struggled to make do with what they had left. But for Huetzin, life was centered about his ability to draw shape from stone.
I understand the pain, she thought, as if speaking to him. I know what it feels like to have that part of your soul wrenched from you.
Huetzin blinked, as if coming out of a daze. “It is so hard to believe that you could…” He faltered, then his voice steadied as he stared at Wise Coyote. He seemed to be gathering strength from hearing the truth.
The king tried to reach out to his son, but Huetzin shrank away, putting up a hand to guard his face, as if fearing he would be struck again.
His expression suddenly bleak, Wise Coyote backed away, then turned sharply toward the door. Mixcatl jumped up and hurried after him.
“Wait,” she called.
The king halted, his back to her, his hands clenched. “You no longer need me. Now that Huetzin knows the truth…”
“He needs you more than ever,” she said fiercely. “If you walk out of this room with another lie in your heart, you have learned nothing from all this!”
Wise Coyote swung around, his cloak billowing out behind him, his eyes flashing. For an instant Mixcatl thought she had pushed him too hard and that he was turning on her, but he rushed past and fell on his knees before Huetzin.