by Chris Blake
“Good question,” Zolin said slyly. “Maybe you’re a traitor.”
“What? How dare you!” Zuma lifted up her branch, ready to hit Zolin again. Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute,” she said. “An Aztec has to fight in two battles and capture twelve enemies before he’s allowed to join the Jaguar Warriors. You don’t look old enough to be carrying a sword.”
“That’s what you think,” said Zolin, pulling a blade from its sheath.
Tom stared at the weapon. It didn’t look like any sword he’d seen before. It was made of wood, with shards of dark glass stuck in its edges. The glass looked deadly sharp.
Zolin went into a crouch, holding his weapon ready to strike. Then he sprang at Zuma, his sword hissing through the air. She dived out of the way just in time. Tom scanned the jungle for something he could fight with. They were going to need more than tree branches to take on Zolin’s sword.
At that moment, a spear came slicing through the trees. Zolin’s eyes widened as it whistled beneath his nose before burying itself in a tree trunk with a loud thud. The shaft of the spear quivered in front of the Aztec boy’s eyes.
“Your mother shouldn’t let you play with swords,” a voice said coolly. “You might get hurt.”
Tom turned to see a teenager walk out from behind some trees. In one hand he held an odd-looking stick, in the other a shield decorated with feathers. He was wearing a feathered headdress that made him look like an eagle. Calmly, the boy walked over to Zolin and pulled his spear from the tree. “The first shot was a warning,” he said. “Don’t make me take another.”
For a second, Zolin looked like he might argue. He scowled at Tom and Zuma. “I won’t forget you,” he said, between clenched teeth. “You’ll regret the day you crossed me.” Then he fled into the trees.
The teenage boy turned to Zuma and Tom. “I’m Matlal,” he said. “You can call me Mat.”
“You’re an Eagle Warrior!” Zuma replied. There was admiration in her voice. She turned to Tom. “Jaguar and Eagle Warriors are both special fighters in the Aztec army. But I’ve always thought that Eagles are the best.”
Mat grinned. “I agree,” he said. “Though I’m not a full Eagle Warrior yet. I’m still in training, though I’m much closer to finishing than Zolin. He’s only just started and already he thinks he’s a full-grown hero. He’s got a lot to learn.”
“Lucky for us you were here,” Tom said gratefully. He pointed at the wooden pole Mat was carrying. “What’s that?”
“You’ve never seen an atlatl before?” Mat asked. He sounded surprised. “Your people must be very primitive. Let me show you what it does.”
He slotted his spear into the end of the wooden stick. “See that crooked tree down the path?” he asked, pointing.
Tom nodded. “Yes, but you’ll never hit it from here. It’s too far away.”
“That’s what you think,” Mat said. Raising his arm, he used the pole to hurl the spear along the path. It whistled as it flew away, impossibly fast. A second later it was quivering in the trunk of the tree Mat had pointed at.
Tom gasped. “Wow!”
Mat grinned. “The atlatl is like having the arm of two strong men,” he said. “I came out to the jungle to practise with it. I was just heading back to the city when I saw Zolin causing trouble.”
“Find the city on the eagle’s path,” Tom muttered to himself. Suddenly the riddle was starting to make sense. “Do you mind if we come along with you?”
Mat grinned. “Sure,” he said.
“I’m Zuma, by the way,” Zuma told him. “My friend is Tom.”
“Pleased to meet you both,” said Mat. “We’d better get going. It’s the harvest celebration tonight. I don’t want to miss it.”
When Mat went to collect his spear from the crooked tree, Zuma hesitated. “Tlaloc’s temple is in the city,” she said to Tom. “Do we really have to go? I’m already back home. Can’t we just stay in the jungle and forget about the last coin?”
“If we do that, you’ll never be free,” Tom told her.
Zuma sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “And we’ve beaten Tlaloc five times already.”
“He doesn’t stand a chance against me and you,” Tom said with a smile.
Mat had taken his spear and was already walking down the path. Zuma set off after him with renewed enthusiasm. “What are you waiting for?” she called to Tom over her shoulder. “Let’s go!”
It was a long walk to the city. Tom and Zuma followed Mat along the narrow jungle path for what seemed like hours. The trees crowded in close as they ducked under creepers and clambered over roots. It seemed to grow hotter with every step. A thin mist gradually became a light rain. Before long, drops of rain were falling through the leaves above. In the distance, Tom heard a rumble of thunder.
“Tlaloc,” Zuma muttered. “What’s he up to now?”
“More of his tricks, probably,” Tom replied. “We’d better hurry.”
They started walking faster. The rain turned into a heavy downpour, drumming on the leaves. Their feet squelched and slid in thick jungle mud. Tom picked up Chilli. The Chihuahua shivered and gave Tom’s cheek a grateful lick.
“Careful,” Mat shouted, coming to a stop. Tom and Zuma peered past him, shielding their faces from the rain. The path ahead narrowed, running along the top of a steep bank overlooking a small lake.
“That doesn’t look very safe,” said Zuma. “Isn’t there another way to the city?”
Mat shook his head. “We’re nearly there,” he told them. “Follow me and I’ll get you across.”
But when the Eagle Warrior stepped on to the narrow trail there was a loud clap of thunder overhead, followed by a booming laugh. The bank collapsed beneath Mat’s feet, sending him plunging down the slope to the lake below!
“Mat!” yelled Zuma, racing to the edge of the bank.
Tom followed after her, hoping they could pull the Aztec boy back up to safety. But Mat was tumbling down the slope towards the lake.
Just then, the edge of the bank crumbled. Tom and Zuma were caught up in the tide of mud flowing downhill. Tom desperately clawed at the churning goo, but it was no use. He slid on his back, hurtling down the slope on a terrifying wave of mud. Zuma let out a scream as she flew down the hill beside Tom. Trees flashed past as they picked up speed.
The lake was getting closer and closer.
Then the bank came to a sudden end, and Tom tumbled over the edge. For a moment his arms and legs windmilled in thin air. Then he fell into the lake with a loud splash.
The water was dark with mud. Tom kicked upwards until his head broke the surface. Gasping for air, he looked around for Zuma. The Aztec girl was a few metres away, coughing and spluttering.
“Where’s Mat?” she gasped.
“There!” yelled Tom, pointing at the Eagle Warrior.
Mat didn’t look happy. He took a panicky gulp of air, and sank beneath the surface of the lake.
“Something’s wrong!” Zuma shouted. “I don’t think he can swim!”
Tom splashed over towards Mat. Diving down, he reached the struggling Aztec boy and gripped his arm. Kicking upwards, Tom dragged him to the surface just as Zuma arrived.
Mat was still spluttering and splashing his arms wildly.
“You’re not going to drown,” Tom told him. “Stop fighting me!”
Finally, Mat seemed to understand. His body went limp and he let Tom and Zuma pull him through the water. The three of them squelched ashore just as Chilli slid down the bank. The Chihuahua splashed into the lake and swam towards Zuma, his tail wagging with delight as he shook muddy water over her.
“Did you enjoy that, little doggie?” Zuma asked him.
“I think he wants to go again,” laughed Tom.
Mat’s face was serious. “You saved my life,” he said. “I will never forget it, and I will give my life to protect you both. You have an Eagle Warrior’s promise.”
“It was nothing,” Tom said modestl
y. “What are friends for?”
A smile flashed across Mat’s face. He nodded.
Muddy and soaking, the three of them climbed slowly back up to the path. By the time they arrived at the main road, the rain had stopped. Clouds of steam rose from their clothes as they dried in the heat.
Soon they were looking down from the top of a hill at the capital city, Tenochtitlán. Tom’s jaw dropped. He had seen photos of Aztec cities in his history books, but they were all in ruins. This city was alive, and massive – much bigger than Tom had expected. It rose from an island in a vast lake. Three long bridges connected it to the shore. Just as Zuma had said, its pyramids and buildings gleamed white beneath the blazing sun.
As Mat strode ahead, Zuma held back. She looked thoughtful.
Tom looked at her. “How does it feel to be home?” he asked.
Zuma shrugged. “Since you released me from the drum, I’ve seen what a home is really like. You have so much, Tom – a family, a place where you belong. I don’t even have a bed to sleep in. Even if we find the sixth coin, what will I do then?”
Tom walked beside her in silence. “Make a fresh start,” he said after a while. “When we find that coin, you’ll have the freedom to do anything you want with your life. Plus, you’ve only been back for a few hours and already you’ve made a new friend in Mat. And you have Chilli.”
The Chihuahua barked in agreement, making them both laugh.
As they crossed one of the three bridges into the city, Tom looked around. The road was crowded with people arriving for the harvest celebration. Many had bright feathers in their hair and were wearing shiny gold jewellery. Merchants carried all kinds of food and fragrant spices, as well as luxury goods from all over the empire. Tom spotted one carrying a large sack of cocoa beans, while another merchant was balancing a towering stack of tortoiseshell cups.
Wherever Tom looked, people stared back at him. They didn’t always look happy to see him. After a while Mat gave him a nudge. “Pull up your hood,” he said. “Your yellow hair is making people suspicious.”
Tom quickly did as he was told.
“YOU!” shouted a voice in the crowd. “Stop right there!”
Tom looked around, his heart in his mouth. A fat man in a feathered cloak was pushing his way through the crowd. Then, to his surprise, he realised it was Zuma that the man was glaring at, not him.
“That’s Necalli,” Mat whispered. “He’s a slave trader and the brother of Acalan, the high priest of Tlaloc. What does he want?”
Zuma gulped. “Me,” she said. “Necalli used to be my master. He offered me as a sacrifice to Acalan.”
“We’d better get out of here,” Tom whispered.
Zuma didn’t need telling twice. She scooped Chilli into her arms and began running along the bridge. Tom and Mat pushed their way through the crowd after her.
“That girl’s an escaped slave!” bellowed Necalli. “There’s a big reward for anyone who catches her!”
Tom’s bare feet flew across the paving stones. Angry merchants hurled insults as he and Mat pushed their way past. Caged birds screeched and flapped their wings. Catching up with Zuma, Tom glanced over his shoulder. Necalli was puffing and panting – he was too fat to keep up. But his offer of a reward had worked. A furious mob now followed them in hot pursuit.
“This way!” yelled Mat.
They had reached the end of the bridge, and now entered the city. There was no time to look at the neat white houses – Tom and Zuma had to keep running as Mat led them through a maze of narrow streets. They turned left and right, over bridges, across canals. At every turn, the shouts of the angry mob could be heard.
“They’re getting closer,” panted Tom. “We’ll never outrun them!”
“Down here!” Mat darted into an alleyway, immediately pulling Tom and Zuma into a doorway. Pushing Zuma behind him, the Eagle Warrior put his finger on his lips.
Wide-eyed, Tom stayed silent. All it needed was one person to spot them and they were done for. Seconds later, he heard yells and the sound of running feet. Necalli’s mob rushed past the entrance to the alleyway, barely glancing at the doorway. Gradually, the shouts disappeared. Tom slowly let out his breath.
“Phew!” said Zuma. “That was close! Thanks, Mat.”
Although they were safe, Mat’s face was grim. “On the bridge, you said you were an escaped sacrifice. Is that true?”
“Yes,” replied Zuma. “I was going to be sacrificed to Tlaloc.”
Mat looked shocked. “But sacrifices please the gods!” he said. “They die so we all might live. It’s a great honour.”
Zuma snorted. “It doesn’t feel like an honour when the high priest is standing over you with a big knife in his hand.”
“Tlaloc must have been angry when you ran away,” said Mat.
“Tlaloc’s always angry,” interrupted Tom. “You could sacrifice every Aztec alive to him and he’d still be in a bad mood. You’re not going to hand us over to Necalli, are you?”
Mat shook his head. “Whatever Zuma has done, I swore I would protect you. An Eagle Warrior does not break his word.” He turned back to Zuma. “Is there anyone else who might recognise you?”
“Just Necalli,” said Zuma. “I’ve only been to the capital once before, and that time I was covered in blue paint.”
“And if we can find the special coin we need, Necalli can’t do anything to hurt us,” Tom told Mat. “We think it might be in Tlaloc’s temple. Can you take us there?”
“Of course!” laughed Mat. “Everyone knows where Tlaloc’s temple is. It’s in the Sacred Precinct, in the middle of Tenochtitlan. Follow me.”
Keeping watch, Mat led them deeper into the city. Tom made sure he kept his hood up, and Zuma stayed unusually quiet. The Aztec capital was a surprisingly clean city. Tom remembered from his history lessons that European cities at this time were ankle-deep in muck and rubbish. Tenochtitlan looked as if it had been scrubbed and polished that morning.
The closer they came to the centre, the more they were jostled by the crowds. The air was thick with the scent of food. Tom’s stomach rumbled as he smelled spicy chilli and roasting corn. It seemed ages since he had last eaten.
Mat led them to a great gate guarded by Eagle Warriors. Spotting Mat’s eagle headdress, they nodded at him and let them all through.
As they stepped into the Sacred Precinct, Tom gasped. The central square was enormous. Vast platforms and huge, stepped pyramids towered over him. Each pyramid was topped with a temple. At the centre of the precinct was a massive, open-air games court. Thousands of Aztecs were crowded inside the square, chattering excitedly. They were all facing the largest pyramid in the precinct, which had a squat building at its summit.
“That’s the Great Pyramid,” Zuma whispered to Tom. “Tlaloc’s temple is right on top of it.”
Men and women were hurriedly stepping backwards, creating a path through the crowd to the pyramid. An urgent murmur ran through the crowd: “The Shorn Ones are coming! The Shorn Ones are coming!”
Peering through the sea of faces, Tom saw a procession of tall warriors make their way through the square. The men were bald, except for a long plait of hair that covered their left ears, and their heads had been painted – half in blue, half in red or yellow.
“Who are they?” he asked Zuma.
“The Shorn Ones are the most feared of all Aztec warriors,” she whispered back. “They have sworn a promise never to take a backwards step in battle, on pain of death.”
The warriors certainly looked fierce, but it was the man leading them that interested Tom. His face was hidden in a deep hood, and he was dressed in robes made of dazzling blue feathers. When Tom caught a glimpse of the man’s face, he shuddered. It was ugly and twisted, coloured a glittering green.
Keep calm, Tom told himself, it’s only a mask. Suddenly, he remembered a line from the pendant’s riddle: A false face hides the ultimate prize…
“Who is that?” he blurted out, pointing at the masked m
an.
“Acalan, the high priest of Tlaloc,” Mat hissed. “No more questions. People will know you’re not an Aztec.”
Tom bit his tongue. Instead, his eyes followed Acalan as the high priest began climbing the steps of the Great Pyramid. The Shorn Ones formed a ring round the base of the pyramid, giving the crowd warning stares not to come any closer.
“It won’t be long until the ceremony begins,” Mat murmured. “The high priest will sacrifice a human to make sure that Tlaloc is pleased. We will only eat well this year if Tlaloc blesses the harvest.”
Tom couldn’t hide his disgust.
Tenochtitlán might have been a beautiful city, but there were horrors lurking inside it.
Acalan paused on the pyramid steps and looked out over the crowd. Tom felt as if the high priest was staring straight at him and Zuma.
“What’s he doing?” Mat whispered to Tom. “Why’s he looking at us?”
“I don’t know,” Tom whispered back. “But let’s get out of here before he decides to say hello.”
The three of them turned and slipped away through the crowd. But Tom could feel the high priest’s gaze burning into the back of his head as they went. He was sure that Acalan was about to call out “Stop!”, or send his Shorn One warriors after them. So when they reached the edge of the crowd without any fuss, Tom sighed with relief.
Then he looked up, and cried out in shock.
Staring at him were rows of empty eye sockets. Hundreds and hundreds of human skulls were grinning at him.
Tom stumbled backwards, bumping into Zuma. “It’s all right, Tom,” she said. “They’re just the skulls of old sacrifices. They keep them on a rack. It’s called a—”
She was interrupted by mocking laughter. “Ha ha!” a familiar voice called out. “The yellow-haired spy is scared!”
Tom’s head snapped round. Zolin, the trainee Jaguar Warrior, was standing nearby with a small crowd of sniggering friends.
“It’s just a few mouldy skulls,” the warrior sneered. “Imagine how scared he’d be in battle.”