Young Jaguar, The

by Zoe Saadia

The man attacked mildly, and Atolli had no difficulty avoiding the touch of the polished stone of his opponent’s Mayan axe. He leaped aside and made sure his sword was ready for the next blow, which, indeed, did not make him wait. Never having fought against an axe before, he evaded the blows nervously, wishing he’d had time to prepare, to study this particular warfare.

  Yet, at least he was well rested by now, his battered body refreshed, his head free from aching. Briefly, he remembered the previous night. After a short interview with the Emperor’s very haughty and irritable brother, he had been led into a small cozy room in the depths of the Palace’s lower floor, where he had promptly fallen asleep, not waking up even when a slave came to bandage his head in the morning.

  Evidently, his presence was not required anywhere as he was left to sleep undisturbed well into the high afternoon. By then he had awakened well rested, his head aching, but bearably so, his body stiff but refreshed from such a long sleep.

  Watching the paintings on the high ceiling, he heard a maid coming in. She was a plump middle-aged woman, and he studied her as she went about busily, arranging the contents of a large tray.

  His stomach grumbled at the sight of so much food, and the maid laughed.

  “You can eat, while I check on your wounds,” she said, her melodious voice and lack of accent pleasing his ear.

  In the very short time it took him to devour a whole plate of tamales stuffed with meat and vegetables, she finished smearing her ointment on his cheek and up his hairline.

  “Now what?” he mumbled, attacking a plate with freshly baked tortillas, feeling better by the moment.

  He touched his cheek. It was still hot and swollen, but the numbness was gone, and the pain it left in its wake – bearable. He had not cracked his skull after all.

  “The warriors will come for you shortly.”

  “To do what?”

  She shrugged and began collecting the plates.

  “Leave the tortillas here,” he said, amused by her know-it-all glance.

  The woman chuckled. “They’ll be pleased to see you getting better so soon.”

  “Who are ‘they’?”

  She shrugged again. “You know better than me. All kind of important people.”

  “What will they want me to do?”

  She headed for the door. “I’m sure your afternoon will be a busy one,” she said with a laugh, disappearing down the corridor.

  Well, the maid had turned out to be well informed, he realized, following the warriors, who had come to fetch him. None of them looked familiar. Surely these were not his father’s people.

  Oh, but they made him work. His ability to handle all kinds of weapons was checked so thoroughly, he felt surprised. And delighted. They wanted to enlist him all right.

  And now, fighting the heavy axe of the Mayans in the depth of the royal forest, he felt obliged to succeed.

  Ducking another onslaught, he tried to hack his sword at his opponent’s thighs, almost reaching the bare strip of skin under the warrior’s loincloth. The man leaped aside and with the same movement brought his axe down on Atolli’s shoulder. The polished blade nicked his skin, but lightly, not intending to hurt more than necessary.

  Atolli stumbled, but managed to stabilize himself, grinding his teeth, not from the pain, but because of the hearty laughter of the watching warriors. He ducked another onslaught, then blocked a mighty blow and saw his chance when the man pressed his attack instead of disengaging. As if giving way under the pressure, he leaned backwards and with the attacker’s full attention on the duel of arms, kicked at the unsuspecting man’s shins.

  The warrior wavered, surprised, and Atolli’s sword made it easily toward the unprotected ribcage. Frightened, he tried to stop the blow and was grateful for the warrior who had managed to escape it by falling onto the ground and rolling away.

  He stood there trembling.

  “Very good, boy,” said the warrior, getting up. “You actually managed to make me dirty my cloak.” He turned to his peers. “Not bad, eh?”

  One of the warriors shrugged, unimpressed. “You could have split him in two before that one, when he let your axe to his shoulder.”

  “Not sure about that. He tried to slip aside. I may have just wounded him if this were for real.” The man turned back to Atolli. “Not bad. In one or two market intervals you’ll be ready to fight for real, boy. Now, get ready for another round.”

  ***

  Tecpatl watched the last of the sun sparkling off the Feathered Serpent’s magnificent tail. The polished gold shone brightly and pleasantly, the light it reflected not strong enough to hurt one’s eyes.

  The main plaza was still bursting with visitors, but the patio before the side entrance of the Palace was quiet and relatively deserted. He paced there impatiently, kicking at the nonexistent dust with the tips of his sandals. What would the Emperor’s advisers want with him now?

  The slave, who’d intercepted him, was very particular. One of the main Emperor’s advisers wished to discuss a matter of importance. A campaign to the distant Texcoco, most probably.

  He groaned inside. He didn’t want to travel that far. Such a waste of time, organizing and navigating a fleet of canoes or traveling by foot all the way around the Great Lake in order to raid a few unimportant barbarian settlements. It was not the time to leave the Capital; certainly not for so long.

  He glanced at the gardens, estimating the shadows. Curse them all into the lowest level of the Underworld! He hadn’t been home for two days by now. He should have sent Sakuna word, he thought. She would worry and miss him, pacing her favorite rooftop the way he was pacing the royal patio now.

  Oh, he had missed her. And there was so much to tell her. She would appreciate his account of the previous night; adore hearing all about those fascinating foreigners. He loved to relate those stories to her. Everything that had happened to him would be colored in a different light through her eyes.

  “Greetings, Nephew.”

  He turned sharply, the deep voice tearing him from his reverie.

  “Greetings, Revered Uncle.”

  The square man stood at some distance, overly erect, his massive shoulders bulging, the thick arms folded across the wide chest. He studied Tecpatl with his small squinted eyes as if appraising his nephew, as if not having seen him properly before.

  Tecpatl frowned, not liking that gaze. There was not enough sun to make one’s eyes squint.

  “So, I hear you gave a magnificent speech in your warriors’ hall,” said the man, not making an attempt to come closer. “Your men were greatly impressed, I hear.”

  “They needed to be reminded as to where their loyalties should be.” He forced a shrug, his uneasiness growing. The news had traveled fast. Too fast. Someone must have sent the account of what transpired straight to the leading adviser. But was it that important?

  The lips of the thickset man stretched a little. “Your warriors are not the only ones who needed to be reminded. Too many people are not sure of themselves anymore. Many people among those responsible for the welfare of the Great Capital are undecided. Does it tell you something, Nephew?”

  “It tells me that the Capital is upset with the passing of their beloved Emperor.”

  “True, true.” The exquisite feathers of the man’s headdress swayed as he nodded thoughtfully. “And yet, I wish it were that simple.” The cold gaze dwelled on Tecpatl, boring into him, difficult to stand.

  Tecpatl stared back, aware of the sweat covering his back. Was it still that hot?

  He took a deep breath. “I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me, Revered Uncle.”

  “Don’t you?” The bushy eyebrows lifted. “You are a great warrior, Chief Warlord. Yet, had you been only that, you would never have made it to this exalted position. Oh no, not every owner of the obsidian sword, not every straightforward warrior, would make it as high as you did. A person should be wise, should have a broad enough thinking to enable him to see far. But you are wise;
much wiser than you are bothering to show. It suits you to think simple. It keeps you away from trouble. And I don’t deny it; you were wise to keep away from the Palace’s affairs. Regretfully, it is not possible any more. You are our Chief Warlord, and you lead the most important people in our Empire.” The man shook his head. “They are surprisingly loyal to you; they think you know better, better even than other leading persons of this land. So, now those other leading people are forced to treat your opinions with due consideration. They could not disregard what you think or believe. Do you see it, Nephew? Do you understand it? You can’t get away with the display of a simple warrior anymore. You will have to participate in solving our Empire’s problems.”

  “I don’t follow you, Uncle. What are the problems our Empire is facing? Culhuacan is subdued, the Aztecs are tamed, the Mayans are under control and not venturing near our lands. Our beloved Emperor is dead, but his lawful successor is anointed, installed safely upon his marble throne. What are the problems our Capital is facing?”

  The stern gaze bored into Tecpatl, growing more rigid by the moment. “You are not listening to me, Nephew. I told you to stop playing simple straightforward warrior. You can’t fool me, Nephew. The Chief Warlord’s duties are broader than just leading the warriors. In everyone’s life there comes a time to make decisions. Yours came in late. You’ve been able to stay away from politics so far, but you can’t do this anymore. Whether you like it or not, you will have to become a part of the decision-making now. You will have to choose your side.”

  “There is nothing to decide, Uncle. There are no sides to choose. My warriors will follow the lawful Emperor, the one our late Revered Ruler asked me to guard personally. Personally.”

  The thickset man took a step back, regarding Tecpatl with an almost amused admiration. The edges of the thin mouth moved downwards.

  “Oh, I see. So that’s what our late Emperor was whispering in your ear through his last moments. Oh, his closest advisers almost tore their muscles, stretching their necks in an attempt to overhear. And you, oh so subtle, telling us it was nothing of importance. Oh, you are a deep man, Nephew. A very deep man.” The stretched lips shivered, clasped into a thin line again. “So, what are we going to do, Warlord? Are you sure you want to plunge this country into a civil war?”

  “I don’t see how it will come to that.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Tecpatl took another deep breath. “I will not betray our lawful Emperor, if that is what you want me to do.”

  “You will betray your family, instead? In refusing to follow your Clan Leader, you are betraying your family ties.”

  “Our Clan Leader should follow his lawfully anointed Emperor.”

  “Do you presume to criticize me?” The words hung in the air, rigid and ominous, lacking in emotion. The thickset man seemed to grow in stature, his suddenly bleak gaze striking in its intensity.

  Aware of the effort it took him to stay where he was, Tecpatl glared at the two black cruel holes, his mouth dry. You will not intimidate me, he thought, clenching his teeth. For countless summers you held our whole family in your tight grip, but you've gone too far, and you are past your prime anyway. You will not intimidate me.

  The silence hung, so heavy it seemed even the breeze stopped rustling in the nearby line of exotic trees.

  The thin lips stretched once again. “Well, it’s a pity that you, of all people, would suddenly take to politics and interpret your duties so poorly. I expected more from you, Nephew. When fifteen summers ago your father came to me begging for help, I decided to help you, mostly because I expected great things from you. I didn’t want to see such a promising youth going down in disgrace.” The man paused, letting the words sink in. “Well, if it was a mistake, it’s fifteen summers too late to regret it now. You are making a great mistake, and I wish I could help you to understand that.” The massive shoulders shifted, shrugged. “I would hate to see your family, even this little barbarian of yours, go down when no one is left to protect them. Although your eldest may survive it, after all. He seems to act wiser than his father.”

  Tecpatl felt his heart leaping, missing a beat, then beginning to pound powerfully, madly. “How is my son connected to all this?”

  “Oh, he has already chosen his side. By enlisting into the Revered First Son’s guard, he has declared his position, very clearly at that. Such very promising young man. The First Son’s warriors were impressed with his fighting skills.”

  “He did not enlist into any of the Palace’s guards. The Revered First Son requested him, but I refused to give my permission.”

  “Then he must have been acting independently.” The squinted eyes glared at him, in full control now, mocking him openly. “Your eldest son is being trained at these very moments, after pledging his loyalty to the late Emperor’s First Son.”

  “I don’t believe you!” Tongues of fear gripped his stomach. The man didn’t lie, he could see that. “I want to see him.”

  “Oh, it won’t be difficult to arrange. Our future Emperor’s warriors are training around the ponds, not far away from this patio.” The man motioned the hovering slave. “Call the warriors who are training the Honored Warlord’s son,” he called out. “And hurry.”

  Tecpatl clenched his palms to stop them from trembling, his rage so frustrating he feared he would not be able to control it. Could it be true? Could Atolli really be so stupid as to enlist into the service of the Emperor’s disgruntled brother against his father’s better judgment?

  He knew the answer to that. The young man was frustrated and anxious to prove himself. He could have done even worse than that.

  He forced himself to breathe evenly.

  “No need to worry about it, Nephew.” The old man was saying. “It’s not the worst of fates. Actually, given your son’s previous troubles, he was offered a very good chance, better than his behavior has warranted. And you didn’t even have to humiliate yourself by asking some of your friends to take him as a shield bearer. Think about it.”

  Tecpatl stared at the mocking eyes, afraid to say anything, not trusting his temper.

  “Think about everything. Think hard.” The old man was obviously misinterpreting his silence, thinking that his resolve was weakening.

  Tecpatl clenched his teeth and said nothing as a group of sweating warriors neared the patio, talking loudly between themselves. They lowered their voices, heading up the path.

  He had no difficulty picking his son out of that crowd, so tall and wide shouldered, so handsome. He had never looked at the youth from the side as a stranger would, and now was stunned by the virility, the strength the young man radiated. He would take such a youth to be his shield bearer with no hesitation.

  His heartbeat accelerating, although he would not have thought it possible, so strong had it had pounded since his Uncle’s last revelation, Tecpatl stared at his son, taking in the sweat and dust covered skin, the shining eyes. An ugly bandage covered the youth’s temple, and the left side of his face was horribly swollen. His lips were also crusted with dried blood, but his eyes were shining, so happy and unconcerned.

  It changed in a heartbeat as the youth saw the people standing on the patio. His happiness evaporated. He stopped in his tracks and stared at Tecpatl, a gamut of emotion reflecting on the handsome face – surprise, confusion, shame, fear.

  He stared at Tecpatl, and for a moment it seemed as if he was about to turn around and run. Then he resumed his walk up the path, catching up with the rest of the group.

  “Well, as you see, your son is working hard to live up to the standards of the royal guards’ warriors. He might yet make you proud, you know?” The derisive voice reached Tecpatl’s ears.

  He studied the bandage on his son’s temple. “What happened to your head?” he asked curtly, unable to touch the more important subject just yet.

  The youth shifted uneasily. “I… I landed badly while jumping some… some wall,” he said gruffly, refusing to meet Tecpatl’s gaze.

/>   The warriors, who out of respect halted at some distance, chuckled.

  Tecpatl clasped his lips. “What are you doing here?”

  The youth studied the colorful mosaic of the patio’s floor.

  “As I told you before, he is serving our late Revered Emperor’s First Son. He pledged his allegiance as the sun ran its course yesterday evening.”

  “Without my agreement he cannot do such a thing.” Tecpatl was pleased to hear his voice, firm and stony, echoing between the marble columns. It reflected neither his rage, nor his frustration. Nor the deep overwhelming fear. Oh, he hadn’t felt so afraid for a very long time.

  “It is done now. But if you think of it, is it not a trend of this family, not to follow your family leader’s advice? He might have inherited his tendency to disobey his seniors. Think about that.” The thickset man eased his shoulders. “Your son is not a child anymore, Nephew. He has a mind of his own and his decisions are not that bad, if you ask me. You should follow his example.” The heavily lidded gaze dwelled on Tecpatl, pregnant with meaning. “Civil war is a horrible thing, Nephew. I would not advise you to risk it. Father fighting a son, uncle fighting a nephew. A horrible conflict that should be avoided at any cost.”

  “So is this your game? To make me obey through the use of children?” Surprised by his own laughter, Tecpatl took a deep breath. His heart beat so fast he thought it might jump out of his chest, crimson and pumping, rolling over the mosaic floor as the heart of a sacrificial victim would. Oh, they’d captured him all right.

  He turned back to Atolli, who was still immersed in his study of the mosaic floor. “So, what did they promise you? To make you a warlord instead of me?”

  The boy’s gaze jumped upwards, wild and frightened. “But Father…”

  He watched his son’s face losing its liveliness, paling visibly in the thickening twilight. His heart went out to him – so young, so stupid.

  “I hope you enjoy your new life,” he said, turning on his heel. “Make the best of it.”

  “But Father, please!”

  Tecpatl did not turn his head. Passing by the waiting warriors, he made it down the path, his sandals crushing the gravel, the emptiness in his stomach growing with every step.