by Zoe Saadia
Necalli was busy leading, carrying their torch, with Ahuitzotl keeping very close, not out of fear, she suspected, but to prove his point. He didn’t like the way his calmecac older peer took control of their precious cargo after managing to light it, working with two suitably flat stones, gaining enough sparks to achieve fire. They didn’t think to bring a burning coal, those boys, and it made her smirk back behind the temple’s yard when they were confronted with the problem, arguing about their plans and the details of those. Why would one carry a good sturdy stick wrapped in a cloth soaked in high-quality oil without thinking to bring the means to light it? Boys!
Back behind the small temple and later, while gathering enough courage to slink into its neglected patio and toward the tunnel, there was much argument running between the leader-like Necalli and none other than the young Ahuitzotl. Despite his unimpressive age, the boy was a match to his older peers, if in nothing else, then in his fierceness and determination to be heard and listened to, in his readiness to dive into verbal altercations and maybe even fights. Even the forceful, decisive Necalli couldn’t quiet the royal pilli effectively, himself not averse to leaping into arguments when his decisions were dared to be doubted, with Axolin taking the younger boy’s side, mainly to spite his friend, was Chantli’s amused conclusion.
Well, they were still arguing in the neglected courtyard, when Patli had come back, apparently having sneaked into the temple itself in the meanwhile, not as useless or as cowardly as their calmecac self-appointed leader implied before, even though it had been difficult to convince this cousin of hers into joining the improvised rescue mission. It had taken her time to do that, time and some barely veiled threats, like being told on. Her father wouldn’t be happy to hear about his nephew’s previous day’s adventures, she had claimed, withstanding the fierceness of his glare, afraid only that their argument would make them late for the meeting place, resulting in the boys going out on their own, not waiting for her. If she had known where this tunnel was, she wouldn’t have bothered with Patli at all.
Still, her cousin turned out to be useful, efficient enough and not truly cowardly, she decided to her somewhat grudging sense of family pride. While they were busy arguing about their immediate destination or the identity of whom would be holding the torch and hence leading the way, Patli reappeared at the crumbling doorway, motioning them to come in, the urgency of his gesturing making them obey, wary and excited at the same time.
She remembered how the temple turned out to be not as threatening as they were afraid it would be, its half ruined walls letting enough light and air in, dispersing with the typical temple’s smell. The altar was half-broken, sprouted with plenty of dry yellow grass, the dusty floor cracked, more earthen than paved by this point, easy to step on. It carried plenty of footsteps and other signs of activities, and that was what Patli was pointing at, beckoning them to come closer instead of just standing there, gaping.
“See this?” he whispered, as though afraid to be overheard. It made her glance up and all around. Oh yes, people were frequenting this abandoned temple. Why?
“The marks?” asked Necalli, lowering his voice if not to a whisper, then at least to a considerably lower tone. “The footsteps?”
Patli shook his head impatiently. “Yes, that too. But look here.” The dust was all rumpled, exposing the cracked stones of the pavement, with darker spots littering it. “Someone has fallen here and then was held in place, maybe beaten, maybe restrained, fighting hard, probably. See this?” His finger outlined one of the darker spots. “That’s blood.”
They all shuddered, even Necalli, she noticed, herself frozen with a sudden wave of fear. But they shouldn’t be here, in this place. One overheard stories of smugglers from both sides of the Tlatelolco causeway, their brutality and ruthlessness. And what if… She shuddered again, reading the question in both their calmecac companions’ narrowing eyes.
“What makes you think it was the workshop boy?” drawled Necalli slowly, his hand already on the hilt of his knife, which was tied to his girdle in a showy manner.
Patli just shrugged. “Maybe it isn’t him. But who knows? He wouldn’t be missing if able to come back. He never dared to be absent for one single heartbeat, not even when everyone was still asleep, before dawn broke. My uncle made sure he understood his position in the workshop well.”
These words made Chantli feel bad. Father was too harsh with that boy, oh yes. He did make him work as hard as a slave that was not intended for long use, didn’t he?
“My father isn’t that bad,” she protested, feeling obliged because of their companions. “He demanded from Miztli what he demanded of my brothers as well. Hard work and all that.”
Patli’s lips twisted reproachfully in an annoyingly condescending manner.
“Well, it doesn’t matter now.” Necalli’s voice interrupted the developing argument in time. “We need to make sure it wasn’t him bleeding on that floor.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, measuring Patli with a new flicker of respect. “Can you see how long ago it happened? How old this blood is?”
The question had her cousin sinking to his knees, exploring the floor so closely he looked as though he was sniffing it. Did he? She wondered where he acquired the ability of reading marks left upon the earth, that perfectly urban Patli. Did his previous life out there in the north, near the City of Gods, include hunting or any other fascinating activities like that?
Perturbed, she turned away, eyeing Ahuitzotl, who in the meantime had wandered off, bored with their worries and dilemmas, crouching next to the fractured pile of stones, studying something closely, all attention. They paid him no heed.
“It didn’t happen now or close to this time,” was Patli’s final verdict. “Maybe in the morning.”
“Or at night,” drew out Axolin, his frown rivaling that of his friend, the light amusement and readily offered needling gone. “If he came back here, sniffing around, like you asked him to do,” an accusing gaze shot at his calmecac companion, causing the latter to narrow his eyes in a challenging manner, “then he might have been attacked somewhere there in the tunnel or near it, then dragged here, maybe.”
“For what purpose?” growled Necalli, his eyes two glittering slits, the nostrils of his eagle-like nose widening. “What would they do with him here?”
The other boy’s scowl didn’t waver. “Kill him, maybe. Or beat him up to get answers, then kill him.”
“They could have done it back in the tunnel or anywhere!” exclaimed their accused leader, not caring to keep his voice low, not anymore. “And why have you decided it’s him anyway? The smugglers can settle their differences here like anywhere, beating each other up or killing one another.” This time, he did lower his voice, as though reminded of the possibility of these same criminals reappearing at the place they had evidently frequented. “There may be another explanation to the workshop boy’s disappearance.”
“Look at this pretty thing!” Ahuitzotl rushed back, glowing with excitement. Absently, they peeked into his outstretched palm, even Necalli, his eyes dark with anger, the handsomely defined cheekbones flashing red.
“What’s that?”
In the last of the light, the object upon the boy’s hand glowed darkly, its black head intercepted with greenish lines, spreading along the roughly outlined spine, so polished it shone.
“It’s a jaguar,” declared Ahuitzotl firmly. “Obsidian jaguar. See these fangs?” Proudly, he traced his finger along the carved cavities. “It’s mine. I found it!”
Fascinated, Chantli fought the urge to reach for the precious object, its smoothness alluring, inviting to touch.
“It’s beautiful,” she muttered. “Why is it green and not only black?”
Then she heard Patli swallowing hard, leaning closer but keeping his distance, wary as though ready to leap away, as though afraid of this thing.
“It’s no jaguar. It’s a puma,” he said, then drew a convulsive breath. “It’s Miztli’s talisman.”
<
br /> The silence that prevailed was deep, disturbingly empty. Chantli felt her fascination crashing down her stomach, shattering into twenty little pieces.
“How do you know?” asked Necalli quietly, atypically subdued. “I didn’t see him wearing a talisman, any talisman, let alone something as precious as this. Save his loincloth, he was running around quite naked, with nothing to wear such a thing on.”
“He didn’t wear it.” Gaze firm upon the floor, Patli shifted backwards, like someone wishing to stay away from the beautiful talisman and its dubious influence. “He kept it tied to his loincloth, in a sort of a bag.” He shrugged. “I saw him take it out several times.”
“Maybe he dropped it yesterday, on our way to the tunnel, or when he went back.”
The loudness of Axolin’s grunt shook the air. “Maybe we should look for him or his body, instead of playing here at being scouts, musing about amulets and such.”
Chantli felt like shutting her ears against their terrible speculations, the images her mind painted too vivid, making her wish to scream and run away. Why would the village boy go back here all alone and at night? It didn’t make sense, but Axolin said they asked him to do that.
“Why did you ask him to come here?” she whispered, pressing her palms to her mouth, hearing her own words coming out quite muffled.
Necalli’s gaze refused to meet hers. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he muttered. “I said that he could sniff around today if he had time to do that.” He shrugged. “Because we weren’t likely to be let out of school, not after we had done. Even now…” Helplessly, his voice trailed off, then died away.
“He didn’t have time to sniff around anywhere,” she tossed, unable to control the suddenness of her anger. “He worked like a slave, as hard as no school boy would ever have to!”
He pursed his lips and said nothing.
“Are we going down that tunnel of yours or not?” demanded Ahuitzotl, matter-of-fact, practical, and uncaring. His fingers closed around the figurine, clutching it tightly. “Maybe that boy is held somewhere there. If he was dead and thrown around, we would have smelled it already.”
Chantli found herself staring.
“Why would we…” began Necalli angrily, then paused, his eyes widening, eyebrow climbing up. “Well, yes, if he was killed here last night… and through the heat of the day… Good thinking!” He grinned at the smaller boy fleetingly, with grudging appreciation. “Yes, let’s go down that tunnel and hope that he is in there and still alive, eh? Get that torch of yours ready.” Full of his cheerful high spirits again, he motioned at them briefly. “Let us hurry.”
However, wandering in the sultry dampness, with no breeze and no freshness, brought no results. It was exciting in the beginning to descend through the small opening, clutching to the slippery stones, diving into the unknown. She had done it competently enough, pleased with herself and the gaze of an open appreciation Necalli had shot at her, standing close by, the torch that he didn’t let Ahuitzotl carry despite the boy’s protests flickering weakly, dripping oil, his whole being watchful and ready to help should she find the exercise of climbing down difficult. A perfect warrior out of stories. It made her feel strange, more spirited and agitated, wishing to do wild things.
The tunnel did not stink as badly as the wharves after the fishermen were through with their catch. Not afraid of darkness or closed places, she walked it quite happily, keeping close to their torch-holding leader, sure of her step as opposed to some of the others. The awareness served to enhance her aplomb. Even Necalli seemed to be on edge, keeping their pace slow and careful, jittery enough to look like someone who would jump truly high if surprised from behind. None of them felt too good or too confident, save her and Ahuitzotl, both crowding their torch-bearing leader but for different reasons. The rest huddled behind, hurried and ill at ease.
The voices burst upon them just as they were preparing to retrace their steps, having reached the room brimming with clubs and spears, loaded with wooden chests, the room that apparently the boys had explored on their previous visit. It had an opening in the upper part of the crumbling wall, a slab of stone that did not fit perfectly, exposing a wide enough crack of brightness through which a much-welcomed breeze stole in, causing the flame of their torch to dance. The calmecac boys exchanged haunted glances and Patli lost the last of his coloring. That was the troublesome opening that had had them pitted against the vicious ahuitzotl, their frowns told her. This caused her to abandon the idea of climbing it altogether, remembering Necalli’s arm and how it looked on the previous night. It was bandaged now, still noticeably swollen, exuding an unpleasant odor of ointments and maybe even burned flesh. Out of them all, only the namesake of the water monster didn’t look afraid.
“We should climb through this thing and check all around,” the younger boy declared, unbearably smug, his pose typically challenging, legs wide apart, chest trust forward, chin up. “What’s the point of crawling under the ground if you don’t check everywhere? Maybe that boy you are looking for has been thrown out there, in the reeds.”
That speculation made them all go rigid with fear.
“If you are so efficient, you go out there and check,” growled Necalli, his eyes nothing but dark slits in the grotesque outline of his face, with enhanced cheekbones and overly sharp angles. “We’ll wait for you here. You can take your time crawling between the reeds, getting friendly with real ahuitzotls.”
For a heartbeat, no one said a word.
“It’s too high to reach it like that.”
“I’ll drag one of the crates for your royal feet to step on.” Necalli’s smile flickered wickedly, exaggeratedly wide. “Will be too happy to oblige.”
The smaller boy’s face set into a stubborn mold. “Do that.”
Necalli didn’t make himself wait. Tossing the flickering torch into his friend’s hand, he swept past them like a storm wind, grabbing the nearest chest – a wide, sturdy affair of wooden plants tied in an intricate manner – dragging the whole thing over the earthen floor with a visible effort, his face glittering with sweat.
“Here,” he panted. “Hop up on that one and be gone!”
The younger boy hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. With matching agility and resolve, he leaped up the proposed prop, reaching for the opening in narrow opening, attempting to grab its edge. It didn’t go well, with him being too short, his fingers slipping, unable to get a good grip.
Speechless, Chantli stared for another heartbeat before rushing toward the same obstacle in question. “You can’t let him go out like that,” she cried out. “Not alone!”
In the dim flickering of the dancing torch, Necalli’s face looked frighteningly fierce. “Oh yes, I can!”
But now Axolin came back to life as well. “Stop that! It’s childish and plain stupid.” The torch in his hands shook, seemingly as angered. “We either go up there all together or none of us is going!”
Another heartbeat of glaring ensued, but just as Necalli made an uncertain movement, as though about to push his friend or his unasked-for charge away, the faint thumping reached them, as though something heavy fell in the distance, or maybe a screen shut. Blinking, they listened, momentarily stunned. When more distant trampling followed the first one, joined by the muffled voices, unmistakable now, they let out their breaths at once.
“Put it out,” breathed Necalli, snatching the fluttering torch from Axolin’s hands. His sandaled feet made a quick work, stomping the weakly resisting flame out, casting them into a helpless darkness, enlivened only by the crack of the brighter blackness above their heads.
If not terrified before, Chantli felt the wave of most latent fear gripping her stomach, crushing it in a merciless ring, pressing viciously, squeezing her insides. It all happened too suddenly. Unable even to scream, she waved her hands, desperate to touch something, to get a grip, to make sure the world didn’t go suddenly empty, leaving her here, under the earth, alone and abandoned.
In another h
eartbeat, a hand caught her upper arm, holding her firmly against her wild flailing. “Up, up, now!” hissed Necalli, pushing her upward and into his previously improvised prop along with the boy Ahuitzotl, another lively form, still struggling to clamber his way up. “Don’t move!”
Calming suddenly, now that she realized that she wasn’t forgotten here in the darkness, she felt him messing around, whispering urgently. In another heartbeat, the boy’s warm presence beside her disappeared, hauled upward and away, blocking the dim brightness, climbing like a desperate monkey.
“Quick!”
Strong hands were already gripping her waist, lifting her up, pushing her in the direction the boy disappeared before. Obediently, she grabbed the slippery edge, the gust of fresh air encouraging, helping her pull with more spirit, to use the drive of his push. In no time, she was in another corridor, this one blissfully illuminated, out of the trap, gasping for breath, enveloped in the heavily scented aroma of the lake, so welcome and familiar, so safe.
In the dimness of the late dusk, she could see the boy Ahuitzotl perching closely, his pose that of a pouncing predator, peering into the opening they had just squeezed through, all eyes. The others were spilling out as well, Axolin and Patli, the latter clearly pushed up, judging by the abruptness in which he popped out.
“Where is Necalli?” she whispered loudly.
Axolin was hanging over the edge, chancing a fall back into the dank depths. “Necalli, quick!”
In response, their extinguished torch shot out, landing beside Ahuitzotl, as though directed at its former owner. Next came the club the royal family boy managed to smuggle out along with their only illumination, followed by Necalli’s lithe frame. The distant sound of shuffling feet, more than one pair, made them freeze with fear, the faint flickering reinforcing what their ears were trying to tell them. Oh, but they had made it out in the nick of time.
Necalli shot out with the speed of a missile hurled from an atlatl, gesturing wildly as he broke into a run, motioning toward the end of the corridor and then the dark mass of the causeway above their heads. The rising voices beneath the earth reinforced his command. No one waited for another invitation.