Zolan shakes dirt and sticks from his blanket. He folds it into a neat square. “We should get moving. We have two border posts to get through today.”
That doesn’t sound easy at all.
“Why are there two?” I moan. “I thought the hard part was over.”
Lali tosses her head in exasperation. “The first post is a fortress wall manned by Mexica soldiers. And half a day away is another line of defence guarded by the Purépechans.”
“We’re lucky neither is very watchful along the trade route where merchants come and go all the time,” Zolan adds. “It would be much harder to pass through if we were travelling the main path.”
Lali’s eyes twinkle. “I seem to recall I convinced Atl to come this way.”
“If it’s that simple, what are we worried about? We can just walk through.” I poke my tongue at her.
“We could,” says Zolan, “except we’re not merchants. Three children travelling alone is very unusual. The soldiers will be suspicious.”
“What if we sneak through the Mexica border, then Zolan and I can claim our rights as citizens at the Purépechan post?” I grin at Lali. Let’s see if she can come up with something better.
“That’s a good idea.” She winks at Zolan. “Atl can think when he wants to. He’s just a bit slower than you and me.”
“I am not. I’m the runner. I’m faster than both of you.” I grab my pack and speed off, leaving them to scrabble their things together. Dog barks as he runs beside me.
“Faster, boy,” I urge. Together we race along the forest path.
Playfully, the morning sun tickles my bare back with gentle fingers. By midday its touch will burn and scrape, with hot fingernails eager to tear red strips from my skin. The Serpent-Sun god might not want me dead any more but it still demands respect. Soon I’ll need my cloak for protection.
Around the bend in the path is a fallen tree trunk. Just the place to sit and wait for Lali and Zolan to catch up. I kick off my sandals and I lean back, face first into the early warmth. I flick pieces of dead wood with my toes, closing my ears to the irritated clamour of the beetles and ants at my feet. Dog nestles against my hip.
Above, an eagle circles, swoops and dives. I wish I could fly like that. It would be even better than running. Spreading my arms wide, I imagine I’m free to do as I please. Soon the message will be delivered and it will be my turn to fly.
But the golden eagle bends to no one as it soars above the world. It turns and plunges towards me, talons outstretched like a pair of lances. I should run. I can see the hook of its beak, strong enough to rip a fat peccary apart. Closer. Much closer. It’s too late to escape.
The eagle stabs at the ground in front of my feet, so near, tail feathers brush my ankles. Enormous wings still outstretched, it spits the crushed scorpion at my feet. I pull up my knees, my arms wrapped tight against my thudding heart. In the heat of the morning sun, fear runs deepwater-cold through my stomach.
You must learn to listen, the eagle rasps, its voice harsh and scratching. Smallest noises hide the greatest threat. Beware the whispers, runner boy. If you do not pay attention to them, you will die.
With a flap of feathers, the giant messenger ascends heavenward, leaving me feeling embarrassed and foolish. Even nahual ears cannot hear when they are asleep.
Not every scorpion sting is fatal but the old men on the temple steps say it is better to die than suffer the unbearable pain. When the stonemason Coaxl was stung, the priests tended him for nine days. It was impossible to escape his screaming. He returned to work, glassy-eyed and lost-looking, never speaking. Eventually, he didn’t come to work any more. He just sat on the temple steps with the old pulque men. Silently staring.
That could have been me. I am so stupid.
True, true, trills the troupial bird.
Fool, fool. Howler monkeys wail through the trees.
The forest calls out to mock me. The eagle screeches as it wheels north, satisfied I have learned the lesson. And I have. I’m listening so intently I even hear the soft swoosh of a feather as it floats to rest in my lap.
It’s not hard to hear my friends. The sound of Lali and Zolan approaching crashes like thunder through the forest.
“Here.” I hold out the eagle feather to Lali. “This will replace the one you left with the merchant.”
“Thanks. Where did you find it?” She deftly knots it onto the empty string around her neck.
When I tell the story, she tries to give it back.
“No, it’s yours,” I insist. “Now we’ve each got a talisman. I have the jaguar skin, Zolan has the owl feather and the eagle plume belongs to you. It’s a lucky omen.”
Lali smiles. “It’s not luck, Atl. It’s a sign the gods are protecting us.”
I might argue with Lali but I’m not going to argue with a great eagle. I’m going to do as it told me and pay attention.
“Time to run,” I announce. “I can’t sit around all day waiting for you two to catch up.”
We race swiftly. The Captain no longer stalks us but a different urgency snaps at our heels. The end of the journey is so close the jaguar can almost hear it.
Before long, a thin stacked-rock wall snakes across the horizon, separating the sky from land, and us from our destination. We have to leave the main path.
“Which way should we go?” I ask Zolan.
“West. The wall is highest there.”
That makes no sense. “Why would we go where the wall is hardest to climb?”
“There will be fewer guards. And anyway,” Zolan smiles, “we won’t be going over the top.”
“Are we going under?” asks Lali.
It’s my turn to grin. I know something Lali doesn’t!
“We can go through. I spent many hours watching my father and mother labour on temple building sites. Making a hole in stone is all about chipping in the right place. You can move many stones with a carefully placed chisel cut.”
“The wall is in bad condition,” Zolan says. “Every year the summer rains erode long cracks between the blocks. If we dig with our knives, the stone will crumble like week-old corn cake. It won’t take long at all. Every two years the merchant Nuxal returned to Purépecha. While he haggled with the guards over beans and feathers, I gouged holes in the wall with my fingers.”
Lali shoulders her pack. “What are we waiting for then?”
Away from the path there’s no room to run. We climb over fallen branches, push aside broad leaves and struggle through the feather grass. I try not to think of snakes and scorpions. Or plants that lash the skin raw with long, itchy welts. Instead, I imagine the welcome ahead, when we finally reach the temple and deliver Ichtaca’s message. We’ll be heroes then.
The great wall emerges from behind the trees to tower over us. But it will take more than a pile of rocks to stop me now. No matter how high they are stacked.
I show my friends where to position their blade points between the cracks and fissures.
“Like this?” Lali notches a horizontal row of small holes at waist height. Scritch-scratch. Scrape, scrape.
I nod.
Zolan digs vertically to meet Lali’s line at the corner. I do the same on the other side. Clunk, thunk. Stones loosen and drop. Chunks fall and crumble. A large rock lands with a toe-crunching thump. Almost too close. We work quickly. Eventually, a hole appears, wide enough for us to scramble through one by one.
Dog dashes in first, with Lali and Zolan close behind. Then me. My feet fit. My head pokes through. But my shoulders won’t fit at all.
“Come on,” Lali urges. “You’re not trying hard enough.”
“Just wriggle,” Zolan encourages. “You can do it.”
It’s easy for them to say. They’re short and stringy like the sage bush but I’m almost a full-grown tree. Thin but with shoulders like sturdy branches.
“I am trying. Do you think I like it here?” I struggle to twist my body but it only makes things worse. Now I’m wedged tight. Stuck.
I kick at the ground in anger.
Startled, a rabbit bolts from the safety of the wall. Woof-woof. Woof. Dog rushes after it, barking. The sound resonates through the stillness to echo off the wall and into the forest. My horror is mirrored in Lali and Zolan’s faces.
What if a sentry hears?
“I knew we shouldn’t have brought a dog with us.” Lali frantically digs out a small rock. “I said he would be too noisy.” But she doesn’t sound convincing, especially when Dog returns to lick her ankle and she bends to scratch his neck.
“Stop talking and hurry up,” I retort, trying to wrench free.
“Don’t worry, Atl.” Zolan pries another stone loose. “We’ll have you out soon.”
I hope it’s soon enough.
It’s frustrating to watch Zolan and Lali dig. Even Dog scratches at the wall. But with my arms pinned, there is nothing I can do to help my friends or protect my head from falling rocks.
Time crawls like a caterpillar. Thump. Another chunk dislodged. A much larger one.
“Try now,” says Zolan.
I move my shoulders. I wriggle one arm free and Lali helps pull me through.
I flex my cramped muscles and wave my finger reprovingly at Dog. He’s not sorry. He wags his tail, ready to play again.
“We can’t stop for games, but tomorrow we will,” I promise.
Tomorrow we won’t have to run any more.
We thread our way through the forest, careful not to tread on spiky agave leaves. If a thorn pierces my sandal, I’ll be limping the last steps to Tzintzuntzan.
I force my way past thick, heavy leaves and the undergrowth fights back. It flicks me in the face and slaps me on the thigh. Every step is a battle. I breathe a long sigh of relief when we find the path again and our feet begin to move faster. Running eases the stiffness in my shoulders.
As the sun climbs higher, sweat drips from my nose to my chin. From my chin it dribbles down my chest to pool against my belt. Itchy and uncomfortable. Unsettled, the jaguar growls softly from the pit of my stomach. I don’t want to stop but when I try to ignore it, the sound grows even louder.
“I’m hungry too,” says Zolan. “What about here for lunch?” He points to a flat space peppered with stones. It’s not the most comfortable place but at least there are no spikes. I throw my pack onto the ground to sit on.
“It’s strange, but I still feel as if someone is following us,” I say.
“That’s because you’re free for the first time in your life. You’re not used to that,” Lali explains.
I’m sure she’s right except I’m not quite free. Not until the message is delivered.
We eat fast, shoving folded wads of stale tortilla into our mouths and washing them down with gulps of water.
“Ready to go,” I announce as soon as the last mouthful is swallowed.
Slowly, the sun winches into the apex of the day. But there’s nothing slow about our progress. We take turns to lead, Dog always bounding ahead.
The Purépechan border post is a small stone and mud building with a thatched roof, just like the houses in Tenochtitlan. The two sentries lounge at the doorway – more at home than on duty. They’re not paying attention to anything.
“We’ve made it all the way up the path in full view without even being challenged.” Lali is not impressed.
And neither am I. Such a thing wouldn’t happen at the causeway gates to Tenochtitlan. It’s hard to imagine the Mexica Eagle and Jaguar Warriors could not defeat such sloppy soldiering.
Dog barks excitedly and one sentry opens his eyes. Three children are no threat; he doesn’t bother to reach for his lance. I raise my eyebrows at Lali and she dips her head in agreement. Foolish soldier. He’d be dead by now if that was what we wanted.
“We’ve got company, Mox.” The soldier nudges his older, snoring companion. “Wake up.”
The second sentry jumps to attention, weapon in hand. Seeing us, he laughs. “It’s just a bunch of kids. Let them through.”
“They might be dangerous,” the first sentry responds. He’s much younger and eager to do something more than sleep in the sun. We’re probably the first travellers to pass through in days. “I should at least inspect their packs.”
“I hardly think they’re a risk, Tarasc. And we can see their hunting bows and lances. They’re not trying to conceal anything. Have you got anything to hide?”
We shake our heads and shrug.
Mox laughs. “Just let them through. Do you really think these three are a threat to the Empire?”
“We should search them,” insists the younger sentry. “They’re wearing Mexica clothes.”
“Hmm.” Mox chuckles. “So they are. Do they have an army of soldiers marching behind them?”
Tarasc scans the horizon. Just in case. “I can’t see anything.”
“It wouldn’t matter anyway. Mexica never won a war here. So what do you kids have to say for yourselves?” Mox scratches at the grey stubble on his chin. “Are you an advance war party? Should we be quaking in our sandals and preparing to surrender?”
“I am not from Mexica. Only my clothes are.” I puff my chest proudly. “I am a son of Purépecha. My parents were captured by the Mexicas and sold as slaves.”
“The guards will be able to check your story at the main gate. I can see from your round face and curly hair, you are most likely one of us.”
I point to Zolan. “He’s from Purépecha too.”
“I have no family there either,” Zolan says. “My parents are dead.”
“You poor kids have had a run of bad luck. Today your luck has changed. You will find your own people warm and welcoming.” Even suspicious Tarasc is now on our side. But his compassion doesn’t include Lali. “What are we going to do about her?” He gestures accusingly. “She’s of Mexica. It’s all over her face.”
I smile. It’s payback time. “The girl is my slave. When I escaped I forced her to come and serve me as I served her people. Isn’t that true, Citlali?”
Lali doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Yes, Master,” she responds.
“I hardly think one slave girl is a danger, Tarasc. Even if she is a Mexica,” guffaws old Mox. “We should let these kids through so they can return to where they belong.” He studies our dirty, scratched faces and clothing spattered with dried mud. “They could also do with a steam bath and a plate piled high with pan-fried lake fish.”
Sounds good to me. The city of Tzintzuntzan perches on Lake Pátzcuaro, famous for its fishing grounds. Even in Tenochtitlan, we eagerly awaited merchants bearing the sweet whitefish caught in the lake. My mouth moistens and I quickly wipe the dribble from its corners.
The first sentry waves us through. “The City of the Hummingbirds welcomes its own,” he says, bowing formally. He glares at Lali. “And as for you, slave, the gods will decide your fate.”
“Get the bags, girl,” I order Lali, trying not to grin too widely.
The sentries wave until we are out of sight.
“I’ll have that now.” I take my pack from Lali. She’s strong but two packs are much too heavy for her to carry very far.
Lali stops and gulps to catch her breath. “I’m glad none of us are really slaves.”
She’s never had a master to answer to. But I can tell she understands.
We’re so close now. The hills roll up to the horizon and before that stretches the blue of the lake and the blur of the city at its edge. Our journey’s end. Her throat tilted to the sun, Lali screeches the Eagle Warrior cry. Anticipating victory. Finally, inside the borders of Purépecha, she has achieved what her father never could.
By dusk we are even closer, standing outside the city gates. Zolan helps me drape the jaguar skin across my shoulders. I am ready to deliver the message.
Hands linked, Lali drags us behind her in a celebration dance. “I knew we were going to make it,” she sings.
A soldier peers through the large peephole in the huge wooden gates.
“State your business,” he s
naps.
“I’ve come to see the High Priest,” I announce importantly. “I bear a message from Tenochtitlan.”
“A likely story. Be off, urchins.” The soldier laughs. It’s a harsh, threatening sound that makes Dog snarl. “Be gone, before I have you chased away.”
“But it is true,” I protest.
“Use the key,” Lali reminds me.
How could I have forgotten? She’s right. I am thick as a mud brick. Sometimes.
“I am a messenger from Ichtaca, chosen High Priest of the Serpent-Sun god.” I say his name loud, with all the pomp and ceremony it deserves. It hovers in the air and waits for the doors to swing open wide.
But the soldier doesn’t answer. The doors don’t move at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
OFFERING ALL
Even though the soldier doesn’t respond, I know he’s still there. I can hear the soft scuffle of his sandals in the dirt and Dog sniffs then growls against the gate.
I have to do something. Think, Atl, think. If I don’t convince the soldier to open the gates, our journey has been wasted and the pale lords will march on unchallenged. Even more children will die. My fingers close on the lucky token in my waist pouch. “You never know when you might need a little gold to trade,” Ichtaca said when he gave it to me.
“I have gold,” I blurt.
An arm reaches through the slot in the gate.
“Pass it over. Let’s see what you’ve got.” The soldier’s voice is gruff and greedy.
What if he takes my token and still doesn’t open the gate?
I look to Lali and Zolan for advice. They both nod. It’s the only choice we’ve got.
Nervously, I pass my token through. The soldier opens the door, his face white with alarm.
“There’s no time to waste. Why didn’t you tell me you had a High Priest message disc? Hurry now. He’ll probably want my head on a platter for not bringing you to him immediately.”
The soldier strides ahead. Even inside the city we are still running to keep up. Carefully dodging the slap of our sandals, Dog darts backwards and forwards between us. Like Zolan and me, he’s home too. But we’re not home free. Not yet.
Jaguar Warrior Page 10