by Chris Blake
Before Tom could reply, Zuma shouted, “He’s braver than you, you monkey-brained little twerp. He’s fought assassins and killers. A mighty Japanese warlord once begged him to join his army.”
“Japa-what?” Zolin howled with laughter. “I’ve never even heard of that kind of warlord, but he must have a pretty useless army.”
“Get lost, you annoying insect,” said Mat calmly.
“Leave it, Mat,” Tom said, tugging Zuma’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
“See?” jeered Zolin, jumping from one foot to the other in glee. “The coward is running away. If he were really brave, he’d play in the Ulama game. The Jaguars are playing the Eagles in a few minutes.”
“What’s he talking about?” Tom whispered to Zuma.
“The Aztec game I told you about, remember?” she told him. “They often play a match before a sacrifice, to honour Tlaloc.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Mat warned him. “Ulama can get rough. Players often get broken bones, or have their teeth knocked out.”
Tom stared at the jeering Zolin. His blood was boiling. “OK, I’ll play,” he told the Jaguar Warrior. “And I’ll win too.”
But as Tom marched towards the games court, he realised he had made a big mistake. There were thousands of people jostling around, trying to get a better view of the action. What if one of them had been in the mob that had chased them through the city?
“Nice one, brainbox!” Zuma hissed in Tom’s ear. “We’re trying not to get spotted, remember?”
It was too late to back out now. Mat was already talking to the captain of the Eagle Warrior team, pointing at Tom. When he came back, his face glowed with excitement.
“It’s all fixed,” he said. “The Eagles will let you play. I told them it was a matter of honour.”
The next few minutes passed in a whirl. Before he knew it, Tom was standing on the Ulama court. Thousands of eyes were staring at him.
An Eagle Warrior nudged him. “Keep the ball in the air,” he said. “If you let the ball hit the floor, we lose a point. Every time we get it over the line at the Jaguars’ end, we win a point. The first team to eight points wins, unless someone gets the ball through that hoop there –” he pointed to a stone hoop hanging from the side of a wall running the length of the court – “then their team wins immediately, but that almost never happens.”
Tom gulped nervously. He’d never played Ulama before and he knew Zolin was out to get him. The young Jaguar was already giving him an evil-looking grin from the other end of the court.
“Wake up, Tom!” Zuma shouted from the sidelines. Tom had been so busy watching Zolin, he hadn’t noticed that the game had started. The ball was flying towards him. With a heavy thump, it rocketed into his stomach.
“Ooof!” Tom dropped to his knees. The ball was made of solid rubber. It was like being kicked in the stomach by a horse. He groaned as it rolled away.
Zolin sprinted past as Tom climbed painfully to his feet. “One point to us. Did that hurt, yellow-hair?” he mocked.
Seconds later, the ball was in play again. The Eagle team bounced the ball off their hips around the court to each other. But when Tom tried to copy them he found out just how difficult Ulama was. The heavy ball slammed into his hip at bruising speed. Tom tried to knock it in the direction of the nearest Eagle.
Instead, it shot away in a completely different direction – straight towards a Jaguar player.
The crowd groaned. His cheeks red with embarrassment, Tom spotted Zolin laughing hysterically. He gritted his teeth again. If I can’t play by their rules, I’ll play by mine, he told himself.
Tom didn’t have long to wait. The Jaguar team had seen that he was the weakest player. Their next attack came straight towards him. This time, Tom was ready. As the ball came hurtling towards him, he caught it on his chest. Letting the ball drop to his feet, he began juggling it in the air, just like he had before the five-a-side match.
“Hey! You can’t do that!” shouted Zolin.
“Watch me,” Tom grinned.
When Zolin ran over to try and grab the ball off him, Tom kicked it neatly over the boy’s head. Zolin went sprawling to the ground. The crowd burst out laughing. This made the young Jaguar Warrior angrier than ever. With a snarl, he picked himself up off the ground and chased after Tom.
Just as Tom was about to kick the ball to an Eagle team-mate, Zolin crashed into the back of him. Tom staggered sideways, the ball skewing off his foot. Instead of flying to his team-mate, it looped up high into the air. Holding his breath, Tom watched as the ball bounced off the wall and dropped neatly through the stone hoop. The Eagle team had won!
For a second there was complete silence. Then everyone in the crowd was on their feet cheering. Eagle Warriors ran up to Tom. Laughing, they lifted him into the air and carried him back towards Zuma and Mat. The two of them were hugging each other at the end of the court. Chilli was running around their feet in excited circles.
Over the cheers Tom could still hear Zolin’s whining voice. “But it’s not fair!” the young Jaguar Warrior was shouting. “He used his feet!”
No one was listening. Even the other Jaguar Warriors were offering congratulations.
“You were TERRIFIC!” Zuma yelled, as the Eagle Warriors dropped him back to earth. “See, I told you Ulama’s a much better game than your silly football.”
“The team wants us to join them at the Eagle Palace to celebrate,” Mat shouted over the heads of the players. “There will be a feast in your honour, Tom!”
Tom’s stomach rumbled at the word ‘feast’. He could still remember the chilli he’d smelled on the street earlier. A grin spread across his face. “Sounds great – I’m starving.”
“There will be tortillas and chocolate and roasted grasshoppers …” Mat’s voice was lost in shouts, as the Eagle team crowded round Tom again, pushing him towards the exit.
Then, from somewhere behind him, Tom heard Chilli bark furiously.
“Let me go!” he heard Zuma shout.
Pushing his way back through the crush, Tom’s heart sank. Necalli the slave owner had grabbed Zuma’s arm and was marching her across the square. Zuma had warned Tom that she needed to stay out of sight. Now Necalli had her in his clutches, and it was all Tom’s fault!
“Leave her alone!” cried Tom. He ran over and stood in front of Necalli, blocking his way. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”
“And who is going to stop me, boy?” Necalli smirked.
“I will,” said Mat, stepping out from behind Tom. He pulled his atlatl spear thrower from his belt. “The girl is under my protection. Now take your hands off her.”
“The girl is an escaped slave!” Necalli protested. “She was supposed to be a sacrifice to Tlaloc, but she ran away. This time she will not escape. I am taking her to my brother, Acalan. The high priest will sacrifice her as the highlight of the harvest ceremony tonight.”
Necalli puffed himself up, expecting Mat to be frightened. But the Eagle Warrior didn’t look impressed. “Zuma is under my protection,” he repeated. “You will have to find another sacrifice.”
By now the Eagle Ulama team had formed a circle round Necalli and Zuma. “If our brother warrior is sworn to protect the girl, we are all sworn to protect her,” said one. The other Eagles murmured their agreement.
“We will not allow you to leave with Mat’s friend,” said another. “Let her go.”
Necalli looked around at the grim warriors’ faces. At last he let go of Zuma’s arm. “This is not the end,” he muttered, barging out of the circle. Then the slave owner vanished into the crowd.
For a few seconds no one spoke. Then a smile crept over Mat’s face. “So,” he said, “who wants roasted grasshoppers?”
An hour later, Tom sat back and sipped a cup of hot chocolate. His stomach was full of corn tortillas and a delicious stew made from vegetables. He had tried one grasshopper to be polite, but he’d found it a bit too crunchy for his liking.
; “Do you like the hot chocolate?” Zuma asked him.
Tom made a face. “It’s not like the hot chocolate at home. It’s more spicy than sweet.”
“They put chilli in it,” said Zuma. “You should be grateful – this is a real honour. Chocolate’s very expensive. People even use it as money. A poor slave like me could never afford it.”
“Are the Eagle Warriors rich then?” Tom asked. He looked around. The Eagle Palace was an enormous building. The walls were covered in beautiful painted carvings. Through a large open window he could see warriors practising in a large courtyard.
Zuma nodded. “Warriors are very important to the Aztecs. They have their own special schools. Everyone respects them.”
“Especially the Eagle Warriors,” said Mat. He pointed through the gateway to the men in the courtyard. “Do you see how well we fight?”
Tom watched the warriors outside sparring with wooden swords and shields. It reminded him of time travelling with the Egyptian princess, Isis. During their first adventure he had learned to fight with the same weapons at a Roman gladiator school. “I’d like to try that,” he said.
“Fight an Eagle Warrior?” Zuma laughed. “Are you crazy? You’d be thrashed!”
Tom smiled. “Want to bet?”
Mat slapped him on the back. “That sounds like a challenge,” he grinned.
Minutes later, Tom was holding a sword and a round shield. He swung the wooden sword for practice. It was light but deadly, its edge glittered with razor-sharp chips of dark glass.
“Let’s see how well you fight then,” Mat said, circling him.
Tom took up his position, remembering what he’d been taught in Ancient Rome. Stay calm and relaxed, he told himself. Keep your balance. Focus on defending, but watch for an opening to attack…
Mat’s first blow came out of nowhere. Tom stepped quickly to one side. Dodging the blade, he swung his own at Mat’s unprotected side. The Eagle Warrior raised his shield just in time. Tom’s sword clattered against wood.
Frowning, Mat struck again. This time, Tom knocked his sword away with his own and pushed forward, striking towards Mat’s stomach, but stopping before he cut him. “That would have been a nasty wound,” he said, grinning.
Mat raised his eyebrows. “You fight well,” he said. “Again.”
Before long the other Eagle Warriors in the courtyard had stopped sparring and gathered to watch Tom and Mat fight. Mat won the next match, then Tom won again. The Aztecs whispered excitedly to each other when Tom used some fighting tricks he’d learned at gladiator school. They had never seen them before. Even Zuma was impressed. She jumped up and down, cheering when Tom won again.
“Let’s try some different weapons,” said Mat after the fourth match. “I might stand a better chance!”
Tom almost laughed as they changed their weapons. Mat handed him a long spear with a large flat head. Fighting with it would be like fighting with a Roman trident, he thought to himself. And he had been trained with that as well.
Sure enough, Mat found it just as difficult to beat Tom with the spear. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he said, “Maybe I can win with the atlatl. It’s my favourite weapon.”
This time, Mat was easily the victor. With the help of the spear thrower, every one of his spears hit the target. Tom’s spears flew wildly across the courtyard, missing the target by miles. Chilli scampered after every spear, trying to bring it back in his mouth.
“Come back here,” Tom told the little dog. “We’re not playing fetch.”
“What’s ‘fetch’?” asked Zuma.
Tom blinked at her. “Don’t Aztecs play fetch with their dogs?” he asked. “When you throw a ball or a stick, the dog brings it back.”
“Never heard of it,” replied Zuma with a shrug. “Most dogs here are raised to be food.”
Tom looked down at the little dog and suddenly felt queasy. “You Aztecs are so weird,” he said. Fitting another spear to the atlatl, he tried again. The spear wobbled down the courtyard. An old teacher had to jump out of the way to avoid being hit.
“You’re useless. It’s just like the boomerang in Australia all over again,” said Zuma. “Let me try.” Grabbing the atlatl, she hurled a spear down the courtyard. It flew straight and true, nearly hitting the centre of the target.
“Nice throw,” said Mat approvingly. “You’d make a good Eagle Warrior!”
He was interrupted by a young boy, who was dashing across the courtyard, calling out his name. “Mat! There’s a message from the head of the school. He wants to see you right away.”
“This sounds important,” Mat told Tom and Zuma. “I’d better go. You stay here. I’ll be back soon.”
He strode out of the courtyard, leaving Tom and Zuma on their own. To pass the time Tom practised with the spear thrower. He threw until his arm ached, but still he struggled to hit the target. Zuma sat in the shade of a tree, playing with Chilli. An hour passed, then another. There was no sign of Mat. Afternoon was starting to fade; the sun sank lower in the sky.
“Where is Mat?” Zuma said impatiently. “It’s going to be evening soon. We need to find Tlaloc’s coin!”
Tom was starting to feel uneasy. “Do you think something’s happened to him?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Zuma replied. “But I think we should find out.” She grabbed a passing Eagle Warrior by the arm. “How do we get to the warrior school?”
They followed his directions, keeping a look out for Necalli. When they reached the school, Zuma hurried through the entrance gate. They spotted a young warrior in the halls.
“Hey!” Zuma shouted out. “Have you seen Mat?”
“His room’s that way,” the warrior replied, pointing down a long corridor.
Zuma and Tom ran down the corridor. When they found Mat’s room and pushed open the door, Tom’s heart sank. The place had been turned upside down. It looked as though there had been a violent struggle. As he looked around, Tom noticed that the bed was shaking. He crouched down. A young boy was hiding beneath it, trembling with fear. It was the boy who had brought the message to the Eagle Palace. Slowly, Tom helped him out.
“What happened?” asked Zuma. “Where’s Mat?”
“I d-don’t know,” the boy stammered. “I was asked to bring him to the school, but then the Sh-Shorn Ones came. They said that A-Acalan has chosen Mat to be the harvest s-sacrifice tonight!”
“Necalli!” hissed Zuma. “This is his work, I know it. Tom, we have to get to the Sacred Precinct right now. They’ll have taken Mat to Tlaloc’s temple on top of the Great Pyramid.”
“Hang on a minute!” said Tom.
“What?” Zuma said impatiently. “We don’t have much time.”
“I know,” replied Tom. “But we can’t just go running up to the temple and ask Acalan to give us Mat back. There are Shorn Ones guarding the bottom of the pyramid, remember? We need a plan to get past them. Something clever.”
Zuma nodded slowly. “I think I have an idea …” she said.
The streets of the capital were bright with blazing fires. People danced beneath flickering torches as hundreds of drums beat in time. The harvest ceremony had begun.
“Are you sure this will work?” asked Tom, as he and Zuma walked out into the street.
She nodded. “It’s the best plan we’ve got.”
Tom was wearing the armour and feathered helmet of an Eagle Warrior, a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. The costume hid most of his pale skin and blond hair.
“In this light no one will be able to tell you’re not Aztec,” Zuma told him.
When Tom stared back at her, a shiver went down his spine. Zuma was wearing the robes of a human sacrifice again. Her skin had been painted blue. Colourful feathers shimmered round her head and the black pendant glistened at her throat.
Lifting her face, Zuma sniffed the evening air. “There’s a storm on the way,” she said. “Tlaloc is coming.”
“Oh great, that’s all we need,” Tom groaned. �
�You know, since I first met Tlaloc I’ve never been able to understand why you Aztecs worship him. He’s such a twit.”
Despite the danger they were walking into, Zuma grinned. “Twit is exactly the right word for him,” she said.
The Sacred Precinct was a sea of glimmering torchlight. Seeing Zuma’s white robes and headdress, the people immediately made a path for her. Shouts of “May Tlaloc bless you!” and “Thank you for dying so we can live!” followed her and Tom. They stepped through the crowd, with Chilli following faithfully behind.
Thunderclouds were swirling around the temple at the top of the Great Pyramid. At its base, the Shorn Ones stood silent guard. Their painted heads looked monstrous in the firelight. Just looking at the fierce warriors made Tom gulp. But there was no time to feel nervous now. Mat’s life depended on them.
Taking hold of Zuma’s arm, Tom marched up to the bottom of the pyramid steps. A giant Shorn One stood in his way. “No one may pass,” he boomed in a deep voice.
Zuma stepped forward. “Can’t you see I am a sacrifice?” she snapped. “This Eagle Warrior is escorting me to the Temple of Tlaloc. It is my duty and honour to die tonight.”
A look of confusion crossed the Shorn One’s painted face. “The high priest has already taken the sacrifice up to the temple,” he said.
“Didn’t Acalan tell you?” said Tom. “He wants two sacrifices, to make sure Tlaloc gives us a bumper harvest this year.”
“But if you’re worried,” Zuma added slyly, “why don’t you go all the way up to the top of the pyramid and check with Acalan? Of course, I don’t think the high priest will be very happy if the ceremony gets delayed. He might end up making you the second sacrifice instead of me.”
“You may pass,” the Shorn One said quickly, standing aside.
“Thank you,” Zuma said. With her nose in the air, she stepped on to the staircase that led to the temple above. “Hurry up, guard,” she shouted back at Tom. “I don’t want to be late for my own death.”