Fugitives of Fate

by Morganfield, T. L.

  She unloaded the plates of food onto the table with trembling hands, and when something chirped loudly, she nearly dropped the gourd pitcher. To her surprise, she looked up to see two red and green quetzals watching her from a nearby copal tree, tilting their fuzzy heads and twitching their extremely long tail feathers. Breathing deeply, she swept the spilled water off the table with the side of her hand, flinging the droplets into the flower beds filled with reds, blues, purples, and yellows. She then sat on the ground next to the table to await her fate. Nothing you say can undo anything, so be strong and take whatever punishment he deems necessary, and don't show any fear.

  But when Cuauhtemoc arrived flanked by his guards and his food taster, all that determination fled her. She flung herself on the ground at his feet, bowing in supplication. "I beg your forgiveness, Revered Speaker," she sputtered. When he said nothing, she slowly looked up.

  He'd dressed only in a plain xicolli shirt and loincloth today, so he looked little different from any commoner. He normally wore robes, so she'd never seen any of his loincloths, but she'd always assumed they were as luxurious and jewel-encrusted as the rest of his wardrobe. This one though was plain white with no pattern, the same as his xicolli. She stared a moment before realizing how her absorbed attention might be construed, so she looked higher. The turquoise and gold diadem he always wore was absent as well.

  Gathering her wits, Malinali said, "My accusations were cruel and shameful, and you've been so merciful to not sell me to the temple when I deserve that fate. I've done nothing but throw your kindness back at you, and for that I'm deeply sorry."

  Cuauhtemoc bent down before her and reached for her hand, but then reconsidered. "Please don't grovel at my feet. We both said things we regret, and I've been terribly insensitive, and I am deeply sorry for that." He stood again. "Come. There's something I wish to tell you." He went to the stone table and waited for her.

  Malinali rose slowly and followed him, but she started when he motioned to one of the feathered mats on the ground. Only those of noble birth were allowed to sit at the royal table.

  When she didn't sit, he motioned again and insisted, "Please, sit."

  After another hesitation, she obeyed, self-conscious and confused. He sat opposite her when his food taster moved away, nodding that everything was fine. He filled two plates with fruit and fish tamales then pushed one over in front of her. "And please eat. Sharing a meal is the first step in making peace and learning to trust one another."

  Her head swam. First he asks me to sit at the royal table then he speaks about trust. She felt breathless. He's treating me as an equal. No one had ever done such a thing for her, and for a moment she thought she might cry. But she blinked back the tears. "Thank you," she murmured.

  "You're more than welcome. And help yourself to more. There's plenty."

  She eyed him when he poured them cups of water, wondering if she should do it instead—it was her duty, after all—but he smiled as he set her cup in front of her.

  "I was wrong, My Lord," she admitted in a quiet voice. "You definitely aren't what I expected."

  "Not that I did much to help that. You were far more patient with me than I would have been had our positions been reversed. But I want you to know the man I truly am, which is why we're here now. There is something you must know about me, something I've never told my wives, or my daughter."

  Malinali blinked, startled. "You don't have to—"

  "But I do," he insisted. "We can't move forward if I don't."

  She shifted her uneasy gaze to her plate before saying, "Very well."

  He finished his first fish tamale then started on his sliced prickly pear. "Ten years ago, Ixtlil and I were on our first military expedition, waging Flowery War against the Tlaxcalans. I'd captured my first sacrificial victim and we celebrated with many jars of octli. I felt big as a Jaguar Knight, and I drank as one might."

  There were very strict laws in the empire about drunkenness—in fact, only the elderly were allowed to indulge in octli, for they were said to have earned the right—and punishments for breaking those laws were severe. But as with most things in life, the nobility often acted as if the laws didn't apply to them. "Did you get caught?"

  He laughed. "In the days that followed, I wished I had been. I would have preferred a good flogging to what actually did happen. I was passed out drunk when a snake slithered into my tent and bit my leg." He stood to show off puncture scars on his left calf.

  Malinali gasped. "Was it poisonous?"

  He sat again. "It must have been. My leg felt afire and I turned violently ill, retching and shaking, as if I was having a fit; I nearly bit my own tongue off. The surgeon tried every treatment but nothing helped. When I developed a raging fever and couldn't breathe, he punched a hole in my throat, so I wouldn't suffocate."

  "Did they bring in a witch or sorcerer to treat you?" Malinali knew of a slave in Potonchan that had been bitten by a spear-headed brown and gray snake, and the old witch-woman who'd taught her spells had cured him with potions and prayers to the owl-headed sorcerer god. But seeing the shocked look on Cuauhtemoc's face, she quickly added, "You're obviously still alive, so someone must have cured you." You shouldn't be talking about witches and sorcery, she scolded herself. What if he thinks you know more about such things?

  "I credit the gods with curing me. I'm not especially devoted to any particular god, but...I'm getting to that. Suffice it to say when the surgeon couldn't help me, he sent me home to Tlatelolco, to die under my mother’s care. She went to Motecuhzoma, begging for his help, so he sent not only priests to pray over me in my bed, but sorcerers as well. He was a very superstitious man. But nothing helped. I lay in bed for days, dying a slow, agonizing death that not even the hallucinogenic yauhtli could dull.

  "Then, on the fifth day, I woke to find myself standing at the mouth of the underworld in the company of the deformed god Xolotl. I thought I'd died."

  As with most slaves, Malinali believed the gods and their essence prowled the world, but she had yet to hear of a single divine visitation that she believed actually happened. She once knew a nobleman who claimed to have not only wrestled the Night Wind while returning home from war—something the Night Wind was prone to do—but he also claimed to have bested the god, driving him whimpering into the woods. A week later, a jaguar dragged him off into the forest. One didn't make jests or lies about the gods.

  But the sharp edge of fear in Cuauhtemoc's eyes told her he very much believed what he was about to tell her. She leaned forward, her food forgotten.

  "It was a nightmare I couldn't wake from," he murmured, a tremor to his voice. "Xolotl led me through the trials to reach Mictlan—the black river, the storm of arrowheads, the mountain of obsidian blades. I was exhausted and bleeding from so many wounds that when I finally stumbled into the heart of Mictlan, I was eager for the eternity of nothingness.

  "But instead, Xolotl took me to the Black Lake where the other gods were gathered. And they told me to look into the water." Cuauhtemoc's muddy gaze spoke of distraction; was he back kneeling in the bone-dry reeds, staring into the Black Lake while the gods hovered around him like specters? She could see the scene clearly in her head: the blank, dispassionate expressions of the gods, each wearing a nightmarish reminder of everything humanity owed them; jewelry of bones and ears and eyes, capes of skin, necklaces of hearts. Malinali shuddered to think that she too would meet them when death finally claimed her.

  "What did you see?" Malinali asked, breathless.

  "Tenochtitlan, trampled to the ground." Cuauhtemoc's voice broke. "Our people dying of strange plagues; the libraries in Texcoco burning, turning our history to ash. And pale strangers marching out of cities floating on the seas, riding horses and carrying weapons that spat fire and death."

  Malinali sat up straighter. "You saw the Spanish coming?"

  He nodded. "I saw Motecuhzoma stoned to death by his own citizens for letting them into our city, where they desecrated our temples and kil
led our priests. Then his brother Cuitlahuac died of the pox, and I—" His breath caught and he swallowed hard, his hands shaking.

  Malinali refilled his water cup and pushed it to him. "This will make you feel better."

  He blinked away the horrified look on his face then gulped the water down in one long pull. He panted when he finished, and closed his eyes. "I surrendered Tenochtitlan to Cortés," he went on at last. "Then he hanged me as a criminal. The worst though was seeing the world end but feeling powerless to stop it."

  After a few deep breaths, he opened his eyes again and met Malinali's gaze. "But the war god told me it didn't have to be this way. I could prevent the mistakes that led to this; I could undo the inactions of others. I had the power to save my people, if I was strong enough. Eventually it all faded away and I awoke in my bed, recovered.

  "Everyone said I was dead for almost an hour, but then suddenly I came back, dragged from the clutches of Lord Death." He poked at his food but made no motion to eat. "I know this all sounds unbelievable—even I thought it was merely a near-death nightmare that sometimes invaded my dreams, so I gave it little thought in the months afterward."

  "Something must have changed your mind about it though," Malinali said. "You led troops to Potonchan, weeks before the Spanish landed there."

  Cuauhtemoc nodded. "Motecuhzoma gave me a royal advisory position, so I learned more about him as a leader. Little things started bothering me, such as how he began each day by consulting the high priests to ask them what he should eat, how he should dress, how much food to grow, how to deal with our enemies and allies alike. He systematically poured great power into the hands of the priesthood while ignoring his military advisors: all things I saw him do when I looked into the Black Lake.

  "But when he talked of denying Ixtlil his throne in Texcoco, I realized I'd seen the future. I knew strangers would come over the sea and Motecuhzoma would doom us all with his indecision and superstitions. I couldn't let that happen."

  "So why not tell the huey tlatoani what you saw?"

  "I tried, but his priests accused me of manipulating him with fear, and when the scouts reported seeing 'cloud cities' manned by god-men on the coasts, everyone began arguing about whether or not Cortés was Quetzalcoatl, returning to reclaim his lost throne. Motecuhzoma tried to bribe them into leaving with gold and silver and jade, and when I warned him that he would destroy all of us if he did anything other than march troops to confront them, he kicked me out of court and threatened to send me off on a pointless military campaign in the west." He tapped his fingers on the table before saying, "I'm not proud about killing him, but he couldn't be allowed to keep the throne. My own father poisoned Tizoc because he was a cowardly and incompetent leader, and with the Spanish exploring our shores, we couldn't afford another weak huey tlatoani. Motecuhzoma had to go."

  Malinali poked at her own food. "No wonder you kept such distance with Tecuichpo."

  Cuauhtemoc chuckled dejectedly. "It's my curse; the only way to do the greatest good is to hurt those closest to me. I never told my wife what I did, but I think she suspected I was at least involved, and certainly that affected other things in our relationship." He pushed his plate away.

  Cuauhtemoc had never before mentioned his wife, but now that he did, Malinali saw the edges of a secret pain there. They must have been close in the way Tecuichpo had hoped they would someday be. "The gods did challenge you to be strong."

  "I worry about what kind of man I've become because of it."

  "I would be more worried if guilt never crossed your mind."

  A whisper of a smile softened his morose figure.

  "Though you must have been disappointed when the council elected Cuitlahuac the next huey tlatoani instead of you." She searched his face for signs that he'd fooled her with fake guilt, but he chuckled softly as he met her gaze squarely.

  "I never really wanted to be huey tlatoani. I was content as a military general and the governor of Tlatelolco, but circumstances thrust it upon me, so I've made do. There's much I don't enjoy about it, such as everyone treating me as a god rather than a human being; makes it difficult to truly know the people around me. It's also no joyful thing to have a slave taste all my food for me to see if it's poisoned. I'm never alone, and while I grew up with body servants doing all the menial everyday tasks for me, there's a delicious freedom to being independent and self-reliant. I loved my years in the military because commoner and nobleman alike dressed themselves and carried their own swords and bedrolls, and though my men looked out for me, I also looked out for them. In comparison, this palace feels like a prison." He looked around with a sad, wistful expression.

  "That is something we have in common. We're both prisoners; you of obligation, me of convenience."

  Cuauhtemoc nodded, laughing under his breath. "Do I sound pathetic?"

  "It's a nice prison, but still a prison nonetheless."

  He continued poking at his food. "Cuitlahuac shared my suspicions about the Spanish and agreed we couldn't let them march inland, so he had me raise an army to confront Cortés and liberate the islands. He's the real hero of this story; if not for his leadership, things could still have turned out the same. He was the strong leader we needed at that critical time, and I wept the day he died. He was a better huey tlatoani than me."

  "Many would disagree. From what I gather, most people think very highly of you, particularly about your military prowess."

  He frowned. "More of my curse, to kill people for the greater good. That's not how I want to be remembered."

  "How do you want to be remembered?"

  "For uniting the One World in peace and cooperation."

  Malinali raised an eyebrow. "I never thought I'd see the day when a Mexica huey tlatoani spoke of building peace rather than cultivating warfare."

  "If the Spanish came once, more will come again; especially now that they know we have gold. They will try to exploit our weaknesses, and all the constant warfare between our peoples weakens us. We must adapt and defend our way of life, defend our right to exist, but we can only do that by working together. I've made allies of many of our old enemies, but we really need Tlaxcala on our side, and we need to put our faith in them, and them on us."

  "So that's where I come in," Malinali concluded. It all made sense now; the questions, the prying, the trying to befriend her. She was politically useful. She should feel relieved to know that was all he was after, and yet...now those girlish fantasies after that day in Chapultepec seemed laughable. At least you didn’t let yourself get caught up in it, she thought.

  But this all begged another question: how long did he know she'd been a slave in Tlaxcala, and why hadn't he said anything about it? Did he know about her son too? She couldn't bring herself to raise those painful questions, but she did manage to say, "So all this because I've been in Lord Acxotecatl's bed?"

  Cuauhtemoc shook his head. "Because you've lived in Tlaxcala and know how they think and how they feel about the empire. You know about the tender spots where, if I misstep, everything goes to waste. You know their sensibilities and their honor system."

  "And I know the layout of the palace and all the ways in and out," she finished. "If I may speak frankly, My Lord, they will find your motives suspect."

  "I know. Our history isn't pleasant, and they'll hate that I refuse to share our new weapons with them right away, but trust must be earned, on both sides."

  "Then how do you propose to show them your good will?"

  "Lift the prohibitions against them trading outside their borders. We've squeezed them hard in that regard."

  "That might get their attention, but I wouldn't expect much. While Tlaxcalan noblemen complain bitterly about your blockade forcing them to wear scratchy maguey fiber loincloths, they care more about their pride than they do about cotton."

  "Then I suppose it's futile to try to convince them to sign a military pact, with troop commitment in the event of future invasion attempts from across the sea?"

&nbs
p; "Acxotecatl would never agree to that. The Mexica regularly force Tlaxcala to engage in your Flowery Wars, to drag off their best warriors to the sacrifice and remind them that they are free only by the grace of the Triple Alliance. Since you're withholding your superior weaponry, he'll think you're trying to bend him to your will."

  He chuckled. "Just because a master trains his dog doesn't mean the dog isn't better off for being trained. Otherwise he's merely another course on his master's table."

  "You'll get no arguments from me about Acxotecatl being a smelly dog, but the Tlaxcalans won't appreciate such comparisons."

  "That's why I need you, to keep me from making stupid mistakes that ruin everything."

  "Then you're serious about this?"

  "Absolutely."

  Glowing with newfound excitement, Malinali turned her gaze back to her forgotten food and popped a chunk of melon in her mouth. "My knowledge about Tlaxcala isn't as extensive as you think though. I was a slave in the royal court, not out in the countryside, so I had little exposure to life beyond the palace walls."

  "I'll accept whatever information you offer and will put it to good use," he assured her. "Do you want to start tomorrow, first thing in the morning?"

  A question, not an order. She warmed inside. "I look forward to it. Thank you for the meal, and for sharing all this with me. I'm honored you feel me worthy of that."

  Her heart skipped like a delighted child when he beamed at her. "You're very worthy."

  Chapter Six

  As soon as she returned to the kitchens, Malinali sought out Xochitli. She found her at the metlatl stones on the patio, getting ready for another long day of grinding the maize. Xochitli wept for joy when she saw her. The other slave women looked on, curious as the two hugged.

  "Are you all right?" Xochitli whispered, walking away from the patio down into the herb garden, her arm around Malinali's shoulder.