Obsidian Puma (The Aztec Chronicles Book 1)

by Zoe Saadia

  Sensing both boys pressing close behind, he pushed the thoughts of his father away, never ashamed by this man’s less noble origins like both his older sisters were. Stupid fowls. The bravery on the battlefield was the only worthy trait. Oh, but to be as lucky as this great man was, to distinguish himself as early and as decisively!

  The gust of something that felt like a movement sent his heart to a wild start, his muscles going rigid, stiffening with fright. One heartbeat, then another still saw him gaping into the dank blackness, unable to move. Had he imagined it? No wind should be coursing through such tunnel-like corridor, having no place to originate at, unless at its exit, but then the darkness wouldn’t have been so blank, so oppressive, with a little light seeping in, the last of the pre-dusk illumination. Unless the passageway led deeper into the earth, toward a room full of treasures, like Patli claimed.

  “Did you hear it?” The familiar, Acolhua-accented whisper should have reassured him; instead, it made him bump his nape against the moldy stone.

  “Where in the name of the Underworld have you been?” he demanded, having heard no footsteps approaching them from the direction they were heading toward. His own words came out rasping, unsteady, shamefully weak. He clenched his teeth tight. “I heard nothing.”

  A shrug of his companion did not need to be visible to relay the typical offhanded indifference. “We better keep quiet.”

  “I –”

  Another movement, that of a clearly raised hand, made him pause in spite of himself. What if that one knew what he was talking about? He was certainly more at home here, closer to the slums of the commoners than to the well-to-do neighborhoods around the Central Plaza, having never sneaked anywhere underground before.

  “What now?” He managed to let out that question in the form of a grudging whisper.

  Another shrug could be guessed, moving the darkness ever so slightly. “There is a room there, but it leads nowhere.” The ensuing pause had a begrudging quality to it. “We should have brought a light.”

  “Yes, we should have,” growled Necalli, forgetting to keep quiet. Just who did this one think he was, to imply that it was his fault for not bringing the torch.

  “No torch would have worked for you here.” This came from the workshop boy, again in an annoyingly firm voice, with no panicked or otherwise agitated tones to it.

  “And why-ever not?” Patli’s voice rang with a poisonous condescension, clearly as put out with the insolence of the pushy commoner, reflected Necalli, briefly amused.

  “Not enough air to make it work well.” Apparently, it was the workshop boy’s turn to shrug, another clearly felt gesture. “You need either a shorter tunnel or more openings to let the air in.”

  Taken aback by so much displayed knowledge, they stared for a heartbeat. Then Axolin moved jerkily. “We should go back,” he breathed, his voice barely heard, strained and trembling. “There is nothing here anyway.”

  “There is something in there. I know there is!” Over his previous indignation, Patli shifted his weight from one foot to another. “That room leads somewhere. If we could just see it properly –”

  “Well, we can’t.” He felt the moldy walls closing on him, moving to press from all sides, to squash him or trap him or do other dreadful things. But they shouldn’t have sneaked into that temple and this tunnel at the first place. Axolin was right. He didn’t want to enter it at all. “So let’s just –”

  Another breath of invisible air enveloped them, more distinct than before but as untouchable. It was as though something moved the suffocating darkness, something that didn’t wish them to be here. Necalli felt his heart sliding down his stomach, to stay still and maybe die there. There was something out there, something bad!

  “Did you hear it?” breathed Axolin, aghast.

  A new movement nearly shoved him into the damp stones; however, this one belonged to an earthly creature. The barefoot apprentice pushed his way through, heading toward the darkness in question, not afraid in the least, his steps rustling with decisiveness, sure of themselves. For another heartbeat, they remained staring.

  “Where did he go?” whispered Axolin.

  Necalli bit his lower lip savagely. “Only the lowlifes of the Underworld know.”

  “Miztli, wait!” Patli’s voice rang with strangled urgency. “Where are you going?”

  “To check that room of yours.” The nonchalant answer reached them from further away, muffled but there. “There must be an opening in there. That’s why the air here is moving. Don’t you smell the stench of the lake?”

  Necalli’s heart was back, fluttering near his throat now, still out of tempo. He clenched his teeth tight, ashamed.

  “Come.” To signal them into following made him feel better, still in control. “Are you just a bunch of cowardly women?”

  Even Axolin’s steps rang firmer after that chastening. Necalli hastened his step, liking the upward tilt the floor was taking. Maybe it would lead them out after all, without the need to retrace their steps back into the suffocating darkness.

  The walls narrowed some more, then retreated with startling suddenness. Now he could smell the heavy odor, oh yes. The lake was somewhere there, splashing above their heads, maybe. Was the workshop commoner correct about the final end of this tunnel? Necalli reached out to trace the moldy stones. There were chests there, piled one upon another, wooden cases judging by the feel of it, slippery but whole. He slid his fingers along the uneven surface.

  “What are those?”

  “Try to open one.” Patli’s whisper came from another corner, from the floor level. “It’s difficult to lift these things. If only –”

  “Yes, yes, the light, I know,” snorted Necalli, then felt his heart cascading down his stomach once again as something brushed against his leg, something mangy and hairy, scurrying away hurriedly.

  He didn’t have time to reflect on any of it. In the next fraction of a heartbeat, he felt himself bouncing off the opposite wall, not such a long leap in this crammed, overloaded space, crashing into more wooden objects, making them scatter in a dim thud, hitting his limbs, trying to foul his moves. Panicked, he kicked them away, but the wooden obstacles were everywhere, making him fight for his balance, struggling to stay upright. Oh, but he had to escape, both this strangling closeness and the terrible darkness, and the creatures inhabiting it!

  “Necalli!” He could hear Patli’s voice, anxious, rising to strident tones. “Necalli, what happened? Where are you?”

  To draw a deep breath didn’t help. The air was so stale, full of the musky lake’s odor. The clatter of something heavy being pulled over the dusty stones made him think of the creatures living under the earth again. Something hairy!

  “I’m here,” he breathed, pleased with his ability to utter these words in a reasonably comprehensible voice. “Just stumbled over this stupid pile.” Oh, but sometimes the darkness was a mercy.

  He could hear Axolin uttering a funny yelp before hurling himself somewhere, judging by the crashing noise.

  “Don’t panic, you silly woman. Those are just rats.”

  But now, he could hear even Patli jumping onto his feet with an indecent haste. “Where? Where? Did you see one?”

  “I felt it,” he said, pleased with himself for being now the calmest of the three. “How could I see it?”

  As though answering his words, a sliver of light flickered from somewhere above, drowned in the explosion of grating and screeching. A fairly large slab was moving above their heads, Necalli’s instincts informed him, pushing him to leap backwards, again hitting too many obstacles on his way. The others were huddled close by, pressing with their angular limbs and sharp elbows. He paid them no attention, the sliver of light growing along with the screeching, allowing his eyes to pick up the form of the commoner boy, balancing on top of a cumbersome crane, hovering on his tiptoes, pushing one of the rectangular slabs at the upper part of the wall with both hands, making it rasp. In the hesitant dusky light, he looked g
rotesque, a silhouette with no definite form, a creature out of the Underworld stories.

  For another heartbeat, Necalli kept staring, then, shamed, leapt up the same wooden chest, causing it and its human cargo to waver precariously, clutching to the wall he was now assaulting for support. The disharmonious stridency stopped.

  “Careful!” hissed the boy, but as Necalli reached for the edges of the removable slab, he pursed his lips and said nothing, resuming his pushing efforts, his teeth locked around his lower lip in an uncompromising grip. Oh, but this slab was heavy. Necalli felt his fingers sliding, tearing against the sharp edges, protesting the need to find another crevice, to press it again. The help of his companion was a blessing. How did this one manage to move it in the first place?

  “Does it lead outside?” he groaned, causing the stone to screech another width of a finger. It brought in more light, but not like from the outside, unless he was mistaken and it was dusk already. “It doesn’t look…”

  “It’s another... another corridor,” gasped the boy, clearly as out of breath and exhausted. “But with an exit… out there…”

  Not relishing the idea of trudging along another tunnel, Necalli said nothing, pausing in his efforts to examine his bleeding fingers. “How do you know?”

  The commoner was examining his palms as closely, clearly welcoming the respite. “There are always openings in such tunnels. Who would make a room like that, fill it with goods, and make no additional entrance?”

  That made Necalli glance at their uninvited company with renewed interest, while the others came closer, crowding the base of their makeshift dais, drawing to the source of the light like early flowers, encouraged. “How do you know all this?”

  The boy shrugged, peering at the opening they had just created, biting his lips again. “We can squeeze through that,” he muttered, contemplative.

  The strong odor coming from their new prospective route wasn’t encouraging. Not an outright rot, it made Necalli think of spoiled food, of foul-smelling piles the marketplace slaves came to clean after the vendors finished their business for the day. Not a pleasant aroma.

  He frowned against the shimmering gloom. “Yes, we’ll squeeze through it, but only if you say it’s a short walk. Not like that one.” He jerked his head downwards, indicating the room that looked even creepier now, illuminated in such a gloomy way. A mess of chests and piles, spears, atlatls, other sorts of dart throwers, roughly carved clubs aplenty. But this place was a treasure of weaponry!

  “It’s shorter. Or there would be no light there.” Again the annoying apprentice was being smart. Necalli squashed him with a direful glance.

  “Come up here.” He motioned at the others, feeling leader-like and back in control. A very nice feeling he missed through the tedious time spent underground. “One by one. Axolin, you first.”

  The commoner boy waited for no orders, grabbing the edges of another slab and pulling himself up, sliding into the breach with the agility of a monkey. Or a marketplace rat, a likelier comparison.

  “Go after him.” He helped Axolin up by a halfhearted push, then watched Patli manage a cumbersome climb of his own.

  A last glance at the mildewed room made him shiver. What a place to spend one’s time at and in the darkness. Now he could hear the rats scurrying behind the heaped weapons, and maybe other sorts of heavier creatures. They made his scant body hair rise.

  They didn’t wait for him up there, not even Axolin. Grinding his teeth, he pulled himself up, pleased with the ease his arms held his weight, the grace with which his body completed the exercise, like a jaguar and not climbing monkeys, the slum boys, using all their limbs to get up. Oh yes, he was going to be a great warrior.

  Hesitating, he played with the idea of pulling the stone back, concealing the signs of their trespassing; however, the rustling below intensified, joined with a different even if distant shuffle. Was someone coming, following them through the tunnel they had just left? In another heartbeat, he was pushing on, his heart again out of tempo. Just to reach safety, to escape the closeness and the stench!

  “Why didn’t you wait, you stupid half-wits?” he hissed, reaching them near the murky rectangle, crowding the longed-for opening, relieved. “Were you too eager to catch up with your barefoot, naked new leader, the one who can scurry through tunnels like the marketplace rat that he is?”

  The workshop boy wasn’t around to enjoy being put in his place, surely already out and away, but the rest of his companions quailed, visibly shamed.

  “We did wait for you,” protested Axolin. “We waited for you here. It’s a really short walk, this other tunnel, and we didn’t go out but waited.”

  “Oh yes, how touching!” He pushed his way past them, noting that the telpochcalli boy seemed curiously subdued. Or maybe just deep in thought.

  The smell of the lake assaulted his nostrils the moment he emerged into the twilight of the outside, the spicy odor of fish and seaweed. The water was everywhere, licking the gravel, washing it with small waves, very persistent. Above their heads, beams of greasy wood created a sort of a roof, obstructing the last of the light, more of the wooden planks blocking the rest of the view.

  “Where in the name of the…” Necalli tried to make his head work. The massive constriction with its sloping earthworks – was that the old causeway? But if so, what were they doing underneath it?

  “It’s that thing that leads to that other city, no?” The workshop boy appeared from behind the swaying reeds, spooking some waterfowl on his way.

  “What thing?” asked Necalli, ridiculously relieved. The commoner knew his way around strange places more than even Patli did, that much was obvious. Still, it was unseemly for him to rely on a half-naked foreigner with no shoes. “Where have you been?”

  “I think if we climb it, we won’t have to swim our way back.” Ignoring the question, the boy frowned thoughtfully, chewing his lower lip. “If we help each other, we can manage. It’s too steep and too slippery, but we can make a rope, maybe. Out of our clothes.” The squinted eyes scanned the greasy planks again. “If we tie together all your cloaks –”

  “Stop talking nonsense!” Fed up with this flood of ridiculous musings, Necalli scowled. “What’s behind the bushes?”

  “More water.”

  He blew the air through his nostrils. “So we did go some way under the lake.”

  “Yes, in its shallow parts,” agreed his converser, not noting the rhetorical nature of the question.

  “What are you, an engineer?” demanded Necalli, impressed against his will once again.

  The boy snickered. “You can’t dig under the water where it’s deep. You don’t have to be an engineer to know that.”

  “I know!” He drew a deep breath, motioning the others who appeared out of the dusty opening like hesitant rodents, blinking against the dim light. “But what you know about tunnels and such is not something commoners with no sandals would know. Where did you come from?”

  The boy studied his muddied feet, clearly pondering. “Teteltzinco,” he said in the end, somewhat reluctantly. “It’s in the south. Beyond Lake Chalco and all that.”

  “Oh, those pitiful losers!” Only a decade ago, the old Emperor, Moctezuma Ilhuicamina, the fifth Tenochtitlan’s ruler, put the insolent dwellers of the southern Lake Chalco firmly in their place, following a tradition of warfare that went back generations. The Chalcoans gave trouble for many decades, not only to Tenochtitlan but to the previous rulers of the Great Lake’s Valley, the vile Tepanecs as well, something that only the great fifth Mexica ruler put a stop to, once and for all. Good for him. “The Chalcoans are done for now.”

  “I’m not a Chalcoan,” protested the boy hotly, his forehead furrowing with too many creases. “We are far from that lake, far beyond. Our villages were not conquered by Tenochtitlan. Only those near Cuauhnahuac. We came to join of our own free will!”

  What a passionate speech. Necalli just smirked. “Your will is a nice thing, but it’s not li
ke they could decide not to join. Or to pay no tribute, for that matter. No one says ‘no’ to Tenochtitlan. Not even naked villagers who know their way under the earth.”

  A burning glare was his answer. He paid it no attention, uncomfortably aware that he liked this uninvited new companion of theirs better than Patli.

  “What are you doing here in Tenochtitlan? Wherever did Patli unearth you?”

  “He works in my uncle’s workshop,” volunteered the telpochcalli boy readily, too readily, as though not trusting his commoner protégé to handle the sudden interrogation well.

  “Doing what?”

  “Melting copper.” This came from the working boy again, as expected. Oh yes, this one had his share of pride, not a typical peasant from a forsaken village out there in the south, splashing in his muddy non-floating fields.

  “In underground tunnels?” This time, it was Axolin, over his fright of the ominous tunnel and back to his bright cheerful self.

  “What?”

  “How did you learn to find your way under the earth?” clarified Necalli, out of patience but still curious. “Not by melting copper.”

  The boy’s face brightened with a surprisingly wide grin. “It’s lying under the ground, all this copper and other things for melting. Before it gets to the braziers and your pretty jewelry, it has to be picked from under the earth, tunnels and all.”