"You don't?" I asked. "I almost got him killed by a beast of shadows, and you ask what the problem is?"
"He's a grown man," Ceyaxochitl said. "He can take his own risks."
"No," I said. "A grown man can, but the brother of the Emperor?" If he had died under my responsibility, the Imperial Guards would have arrested me immediately.
"The Emperor has many brothers," Ceyaxochitl said. "Not all of whom reached adolescence."
I was shaking, badly. "Then tell me this: how far away is he from being Revered Speaker?"
"Tizoc-tzin will be Revered Speaker when Axayacatl-tzin dies in the next few weeks." Ceyaxochitl said "when", not "if".
"And when Tizoc-tzin is crowned?" I asked. "What will Teomitl be?"
She had the grace to look away. "Master of the House of Darts, if he has proved himself."
Master of the House of Darts. Commander of the greatest arsenal in Tenochtitlan, all the paraphernalia of war. Heir-apparent to the Mexica Empire.
If he had proved himself. My task was all too obvious. "I won't be his training ground," I spat between clenched teeth.
"Why?" Ceyaxochitl's voice was genuinely curious. "Think of the influence you'd have over him – a man who will one day be Emperor, the Duality willing."
"I'm a priest. I don't meddle in politics."
"Acatl." There was pity in her voice – all the more worrying because she seldom showed compassion for anyone. "Priests thrive on politics. If you wanted a life free of them, you should have been–"
"A warrior." I knew. I also knew that I could never have been like Neutemoc, that I didn't have the courage to enter the battlefield, or the relentless will for combat that kept warriors going. And I also knew how much it hurt.
"If you won't take part in politics," Ceyaxochitl was saying, "politics will be the death of you."
"I'll keep my head down."
"Your head down?" she laughed. "You're High Priest for the Dead. There's no hiding place any more."
"I never asked to be High Priest," I said. "You got me into this." It was all too easy to fling the accusation into her face.
She didn't move. She didn't rise to the bait as Neutemoc or Teomitl would have done. After a while, she said, tapping her cane against the ground, "You can't remain small all your life, Acatl."
"What if it's the only thing I want?" I asked, knowing that it was true. My place had been in Coyoacan, with my small parish – not in the grand temple of the Sacred Precinct, where I was as ill at ease as a fish on dry land.
She still wouldn't look at me. "Everyone has to grow up and take responsibilities," she said, in an unusually quiet voice. "Even small, humble priests."
"Not everyone," I said. She was wrong. I wasn't made for any of the things she wanted me to do – neither for managing the politics linked to Teomitl, nor with my temple. Ichtaca would take care of that, much better than I could ever hope to do.
Ceyaxochitl made a small, annoyed gesture. "Very well. Let's focus on the investigation, then. Do you want to see Eleuia's things?"
"How far is it?" I asked.
"Not far. They're at the Duality House."
I didn't think anything would come of it, but I didn't want to leave an avenue unexplored. "Let me warn my sister," I said.
Ceyaxochitl was looking at the walls, cocking her head left and right. "Your sister. The family's youngest, if I remember correctly. I assume she set the wards?"
"Yes."
She nodded. "She's good, Acatl."
I smiled. "But not, I think, bound for priesthood or guardianhood."
Ceyaxochitl shrugged. "Life has many paths," she said. "Anyway, with all those… things eating away at them, they're not going to last long, no matter how strong. Let me give you a hand to set up something more durable."
Mihmatini did not take to Ceyaxochitl; but even she had to admit that the Guardian's work was impressive. By the time Ceyaxochitl was finished, the house shone as brightly as the sun, moon and stars combined. The walls were covered by an intricate network of shimmering lines, anchored between the underworld and the Heavens, and taking its strength from both.
At a guess, this would last for days.
"There," Ceyaxochitl said. "Let's go now."
In a small room of the Duality House, Yaotl had spread out Eleuia's possessions on a reed mat: an obsidian knife with a hilt in the shape of a warrior and an ornate sheath; the closed purse, soaked with water. I fingered the knife – a sharp, deadly thing, but without a hint of magic – and its sheath of cured leather, with its straps cut open.
"You haven't opened it?" I asked, touching the purse.
"No," Ceyaxochitl said. "I kept it aside for you."
Gently, I loosened the strings and tipped the contents of the purse onto the reed mat. Soggy cacao beans tumbled out; and dark-green discs, half-eaten by rot.
No. Not discs. Plants.
I picked up one, ignoring the mouldy smell that wafted into my nostrils. It had been sliced off with three expert knife-cuts. In the centre was a lighter circular area, no larger than the tip of my finger.
"Peyotl?" I said, aloud. "I didn't know the priestesses of Xochiquetzal partook of it." Peyotl, collected from the top of a cactus, was a powerful drug that allowed some priests to enter a divinatory trance. One of its first effects was nausea, and a sense of dislocation from the world.
Ceyaxochitl shook her head. "They shouldn't, but it's not forbidden."
Something about peyotl was troubling me. Something about Neutemoc. It wouldn't come back, though. I sighed. "Not much of interest."
Ceyaxochitl did not bother to comment.
"And the mark on Eleuia's body?" I asked.
"Yaotl has been making enquiries. I'll let you know when we have something."
As I walked out of the Duality House, she added, "I'll look into the creatures and help your sister with the wards, if they don't hold. But if I were you, I'd get your brother out of Tenochtitlan for a while."
"Why?" I asked.
"Someone is summoning them," Ceyaxochitl said. "They can't be far from their creatures, or they'd lose their hold. Remove yourself from the scene, and there is a strong chance they won't follow."
"I see. Thank you," I said. How in the Fifth World was I supposed to convince Neutemoc that he had to flee the city?
I went back to Neutemoc's house, to see about the wards – and because if I didn't go to him, he'd never know where I was. On my way there, I stopped by a street vendor to buy a chocolate, and sipped it while I walked. The pleasant, pungent taste of vanilla and spice soothed my nerves. In fact, all I could taste was the vanilla and spice, the chocolate being drowned underneath.
I kept seeing the sheath on Eleuia, its straps cut by the rocks and the branches the body had bounced against. It had been of small use to her, in the end.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment. I hadn't been paying enough attention to the sheath. Three straps, distributed evenly along the length of the blade. This wasn't a belt sheath: it was made to hide the knife against one's ankles or calves.
Instants before she disappeared, Eleuia had been carrying that knife. But she had also been safe within her rooms, in the process of seducing Neutemoc. It didn't fit. If you intend to take a man into your bed, why would you need to keep your knife? Unless…
The peyotl. I remembered Neutemoc's words on our first interview: She poured me a glass of frothy chocolate, with milk and maize gruel – good chocolate, too, very tasty. That's the last thing I remember clearly. Then the room was spinning, and…
The room was spinning – not because of the beast of shadows, but because of the peyotl Eleuia had put into his chocolate. No wonder Neutemoc had been overturning the furniture by the time the guards had arrived: he must have been hallucinating, hardly aware of what he was doing.
If she flirted with you, it's because you had something she wanted, Mahuizoh had said. She had wanted something out of him: his silence. And, if she could not get it by flirting – because Neutemoc was
still a fundamentally honest man – then she'd make sure he didn't speak.
It was a monstrous hypothesis. But it fit the facts, and the character of Eleuia, all too well.
But why had she thought Neutemoc was a danger to her? What had made it so important to her, to the point of driving Mahuizoh, her steadfast lover and support, furious with jealousy?
Neutemoc's words came back into my mind, with agonising clarity: She was cold when she first saw me. I had to remind her of the Chalca Wars before she'd pay attention to me.
Neutemoc had to know something he hadn't told me yet. And it all dated back to the Chalca Wars.
Suddenly all became clear. I was tired of running away; of reacting to events forced upon me by others. It was time to take my own initiatives. I had to get Neutemoc away from Tenochtitlan? Then we'd go together to see the battlefields of the wars, and the place where Eleuia had supposedly buried her dead child.
SIXTEEN
Setting Forth
"You're mad," Neutemoc said, flatly. He was sitting in his room, on a reed mat, looking up at me as if I'd just offered him a chance to witness the birth of the Sun God.
It wasn't wholly unexpected; but it still grated that he'd dismiss everything I said, as if I had no intrinsic value.
"Look–" I started.
"There's no 'look'. Do you seriously expect me to believe those lies about Eleuia?"
"The peyotl was real."
"And the rest are your own delusions." Neutemoc's voice was cold.
That stung. But the conversation had been going on for a while, in much the same fashion, and I was beginning to see that I'd never convince Neutemoc of Eleuia's guilt. He might have accepted the fact that she might have had an ulterior motive for seducing him, but not that the motive was silencing him. That was too great a setback.
But I'd thought of other arguments to convince him. "Come into the courtyard, will you?"
I'd already traced a quincunx on the ground. Neutemoc stared at it. "There had better be a good reason," he said, his face darkening.
"It's not going to be long," I snapped. "Are you going to listen to anything I'm saying?"
"I'm not sure," he said. But he still let me put him in the centre of the quincunx. He did recoil when I dabbed my blood onto his forehead – a slight movement anyone who didn't know him would have missed – but he didn't say anything.
When I finished casting the spell of true sight on him, he stiffened and stood still as the world went dark around him. I knew what he would be seeing: my blood pulsing at his feet and, behind the shadowy walls of his house, the creatures, frantically crowding to leach the magic from the wall.
Even imagining them nauseated me. Whoever had made those things had a sick, sick sense of what constituted life, or a very good idea of what could frighten men.
Neutemoc stood still. His lips moved, without sound. Then, in a heartbeat, he crossed the courtyard, and crouched by the wall. He watched them as he must have watched enemies before an ambush.
"Those are the things that killed Quechomitl?" he asked.
"Yes."
"How long have they been there?"
I shrugged. "Two days. The only reason they're not getting inside is because Mihmatini is frighteningly good at what she does."
Ordinarily, Neutemoc would have reacted. He would have made some wry comment about Mihmatini. But he didn't. He just crouched there, one hand resting on the hilt of his macuahitl sword. His eyes had narrowed to slits.
"What do they want?" he asked, though he had to know.
"You," I said. "Your household, very possibly."
"My children?" His voice was flat, deadly.
For once, I was glad the anger wasn't directed at me. I didn't actually think the creatures were clever enough to draw Neutemoc out by attacking his children. They'd just kill anyone who might protect him. But I had to get him out of Tenochtitlan, and to Chalco, to know why his house was under siege.
I said – not quite a lie, but not quite the truth either: "Anyone close to you. There's a powerful sorcerer behind them. And trust me, they won't give up."
He was silent for a while. "And this has to do with Eleuia?"
"Yes," I said. The chance that it didn't was minuscule. "You know something," I went on. "Something that's dangerous to someone. And Eleuia did, too."
Neutemoc didn't turn. "I told you already. I don't know anything relevant."
"You may not think you do. Why not come with me to Chalco? It's one day's journey at most."
Neutemoc shook his head. "To Chalco, yes. But that's not the place you want to see, Acatl. Most of the battles of the Chalca Wars took place near Amecameca, at the foot of Popocatepetl's volcano. That's two days. And I really think there are better times to leave the city."
"When you're under siege by creatures you can't fight?"
"I never asked for that." His voice implied, quite effectively, that he held me responsible for this state of affairs.
It wasn't the moment to start another fight. I held my silence, though I chafed inside.
Finally Neutemoc said, "Two days to go, two days there, and two days to return. Not more, Acatl."
Six days away was both not enough and too much. Not enough, for we had no idea what we were looking for. Too much, because of the unknown sorcerer who was currently besieging Neutemoc's house – for all I knew, he might turn his attention away from my brother, and to some other part of the city, and that wasn't a pleasant thought. All I could do was pray that the Seven Serpent would grant us Her fickle luck, for the journey to be fruitful, and the city to remain safe.
"Very well," I said. "Six days."
Some things couldn't be put off forever. I went to my temple to collect some of the things I'd need for the journey – and found Ichtaca, waiting for me in the courtyard with his arms crossed over his bare torso.
"Acatl-tzin." His voice had the edge of broken obsidian.
I'd been putting our discussion off ever since the Imperial Audience, but I couldn't in all decency continue to ignore him. "Let's find a quiet place," I said.
The quiet place turned out to be the same room where I'd prepared for the hunt of the beast of shadows. Dried blood still stained the ground: the faded remnants of my quincunx, not completely subsumed into the earth.
Ichtaca sat cross-legged on the ground, looking up at me, but say ing nothing.
"You wanted to speak to me?" I said.
Ichtaca didn't move. I sat cross-legged in front of him; and we watched each other like a pair of jaguars after the same prey. Finally Ichtaca sighed. "Things have to change, Acatl-tzin."
"You've been angry at me," I said. "For not attending the Imperial Court?"
Ichtaca didn't speak for a while. He lowered his eyes to the ground, traced a line in the earth with his index fingers. "No," he said. "At least, not in the way that you would understand it."
That was more words than we'd ever exchanged. "You wanted the temple," I said, groping for reasons for his iniquity. "To be High Priest yourself?"
Ichtaca smiled. "You should know, Acatl-tzin. A Fire Priest for the main temple, no matter how competent, doesn't rise to that level – not so quickly, not without favour."
"I still don't understand–" I said, feeling more and more ill at ease.
"I'm Fire Priest of this temple. I see to its daily business," Ichtaca said. "I know my place. But you do not."
Whatever I'd expected, it wasn't such a reproach. "You–"
"You're High Priest," Ichtaca said. He raised his eyes, to look directly at me. "Head of the whole order. But you pass through this temple like a shadow."
What was he talking about? "I'm not sure…"
Ichtaca put both hands on the ground. "Listen to me," he said. "Then you can expel me from here, if that's what you want."
He and I both knew I couldn't really demote him. Ichtaca was only half-lying when he said his appointment hadn't been political: one did not become Fire Priest of a temple in the Sacred Precinct randomly, o
r even through talent. "Go on," I said, although I liked this conversation less and less.
"You have priests," Ichtaca said. "They serve, and do the vigils and the proper sacrifices. In return, they expect something from you."
I still didn't see what he wanted.
"You're High Priest," Ichtaca said. "Responsible for all of them. I run this temple, but you keep it together."
"I can't–"
"If you don't know the proper ways, I or someone else will show you, or replace you. If you don't want to attend the Imperial Audience, I can go. But you cannot detach yourself from what we do."
"I do the vigils," I said finally, still surprised that he'd judge me. I had not paid enough attention to him, seeing him as part of responsibilities I didn't want to accept. My mistake.
Ichtaca shook his head. The conch-shell around his neck clinked, softly, against his necklace of jade. "This isn't about vigils. It's about–" He pushed both hands into the ground, obviously frustrated at his inability to find the right words. He said, finally, "Someone has to stand for what we do. Someone has to make us into more than individual priests: into the clergy of Mictlantecuhtli."
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