Eliztac knelt before the altar, whispering a brief prayer. Then he withdrew from a wicker chest a small figurine of the goddess, which he set on the altar, within a ceramic bowl.
"Stand this way," he said, pointing to a carved pattern on the floor: a huge water-glyph, still bearing traces of dried blood. And, to me: "I'll open the gate, but you'll have to complete my spell with your own blood offerings."
I knelt within the glyph, running my fingers on the smooth stone. "I'm used to it," I said. There was a slight draught that raised goose bumps on my skin: an air current running from behind the altar to the door. There must have been a hole somewhere in the wall.
"Our blood, too?" Teomitl asked. He was watching the statue of Chalchiutlicue as if it might come to life at any moment. Despite the accumulation of magic in the room, I didn't think this was possible.
Eliztac shook his head. "Acatl's blood should be enough."
Neutemoc wasn't speaking. He stood inside the glyph in his appointed place, but he was sunk in one of his moods again.
Eliztac began chanting: a repetitive hum that started low, and gradually rose until it resonated in my chest:
"You created the Third World
The Age of Water, the Age of Streams and Oceans
The Age of Your unending bounty
Giving Your essence to us…"
Gently, he set the figurine within the brazier. The fire flared black for one moment, before the flames began eating away at the statue. It burnt, not like wood, but with the mingled, acrid smells of resin and copal, creating a black smoke that fled towards us. The magic in the room intensified.
I knelt and opened three slashes on the back of my hand with my obsidian knife. Blood dripped out, settling in the grooves of the glyph.
"You destroyed the Third World
The Age of Water, the Age of Streams and Oceans
The Age of Your unending bounty
Water burst from the ground, from the deepest caves
Water to cover the earth, to drown the fields…"
The smoke, billowing around us, grew thicker and thicker until only the area within the glyph was left clear. I couldn't make out Eliztac; his voice, singing the end of the hymn, receded further and further away.
Through the pungent smell came another: that of wet earth, mingled with the faint, heady scent of flowers. The smoke swept through the glyph, wrapping itself around us until I could no longer see anything. Copal and resin invaded my lungs. A cough welled up, irrepressible, and I found myself on my knees, struggling to breathe.
Light blazed, across the glyph. The smoke slowly vanished, revealing, as far as the eye could see, a land of marshes and deserted Floating Gardens. The air was saturated with magic – not the feeble makings of humans, but something far more primordial: the magic of a goddess, unconstrained by any mortal concern.
I stood up, carefully. My sandals squelched: the lines of the glyph were traced in the mud at my feet, and filled with water instead of blood.
Neutemoc and Teomitl were still on their knees, clearing the last of the smoke from their lungs. I stood, looking around the pools. It was a quiet, peaceful land. But I wasn't fooled. We weren't welcome here, and never would be. The more quickly we got out of here, the better.
TWENTY
The Goddess' Will
Knowing where we had to go wasn't difficult. A path opened, though the heart of that marshy land: an area of drier land snaking between brackish pools and stunted trees, leading towards the silvery surface of a lake. Behind us was the shimmering shape of Eliztac's gate, the only way back into the Fifth World.
Neutemoc grimaced, but he still went ahead, soldiering through the mud as if it were a march. Teomitl followed, casting a glance in my direction from time to time.
I was last, keeping a wary eye on the magic swirling around us. This wasn't our territory but Chalchiutlicue's, and She had known perfectly well that we were coming.
A splash in the water made me start. I turned in its direction; and saw two yellow eyes, at the bottom of one of the pools. Two eyes that followed me with naked hunger. Huitzilpochtli curse them. Couldn't we ever leave the things behind, even in Tlalocan?
"What is it?" Teomitl asked. Neutemoc was halfway to the lake by now, unconcerned by the mud that sucked at his gilded sandals.
I shook my head, irritably. "Nothing."
Another splash. I turned towards the ahuizotl – and, with a fright, saw that it was crawling out of the pool.
It was black, as sleek as a fish; but instead of fins, it crawled on four clawed hands. Its wrinkled face was vaguely human: not that of an old man, but that of a child that had stayed for too long in the water; and the eyes were those of eagles or pikes, round and unblinking and filled with frightful intelligence. Its tail was long and sinuous, ending in a small, clawed hand that kept clenching on empty air, a motion that was oddly sickening.
"Acatl-tz…" Teomitl started, behind me, then stopped. He must have seen the ahuizotl too.
Two more splashes of water: two other beasts, crawling out from other pools. And then a fourth, and a fifth, until the path was crowded with a dozen of them. They moved towards us, blocking our way. Their tail-hands clenched, unclenched in a swaying motion. I tried in vain to forget Eleuia's empty eye-sockets, and the claws that had scrabbled at her face to tear her flesh.
"Acatl," Neutemoc said.
I didn't move. I couldn't move.
Two handspans away from us, the ahuizotls stopped. Their eyes shone with the desire to drown, to rend, to maim. But they didn't come any closer.
"What do we do?" Teomitl asked.
"Move," I managed. I cleared my throat. "Forward. Move." The message, after all, was clear enough.
Neutemoc resumed his march towards the lake; so did Teomitl and I. A dry, rustling sound came from behind us: the ahuizotls were following. No going back.
The path went straight towards the lake, and plunged into it. I didn't think we were expected to go underwater, though. Neutemoc stopped at the water's edge. He didn't say anything, but his whole stance radiated impatience. Where do we go now, Acatl? You who always have the answer to everything…
I turned, as slowly as I could. The ahuizotls had spread out in a ring, their wrinkled faces turned toward the lake. Waiting. For what? A signal to leap upon us?
The ground shook, under my feet. Magic surged from the mud, arcing through my back in a flash of pain. Water fountained from the lake, forcing its way into my hair, my clothes, into my bones.
When I managed to raise my gaze again, the goddess stood in the middle of the water.
No. She was the water: it flowed upwards, turning into Her translucent body – and then, higher up, solidifying into brown skin with opalescent reflections. I could see algae and reeds in Her skirt; and, far into the depths of Her lake, small shapes that might have been fish, or very young children, still swimming in the waters of their mother's womb.
"Visitors," Chalchiutlicue said. Her voice was the storm-tossed sea, the gurgling of mountain streams, the wind over the empty marshes. "It is not often that you brave My World." In one hand She had a spindle and whorl; in the other, a small flint cutting axe.
I went down on one knee, keeping a cautious eye on Her face. "My Lady," I said. "We have need of Your help."
The Jade Skirt laughed, and it was the sound of water cascading into pools. "And how may I help you, priest?"
"I…" I started, but Her eyes, as green and as opaque as jade, held me, silenced me. They were wide, those eyes, with small, black pupils inset like obsidian – wide open, and I was falling into Her gaze, a fall that had neither beginning nor end.
She was inside me, rifling through my mind with the ease of an old woman sorting out maize kernels. Memories welled up, irrepressible: Mother's angry face on her death-bed… Neutemoc's smile as he urged me to run after him in the maize fields… Mihmatini, as a baby, snuggling against my chest with a contented sigh, her heartbeat mingling with mine – a feeling I'd never ex
perience with a child of my own… The clan elders, bringing my father's body back for the vigil – and I, standing at the shrine's gate, not daring to enter and make my peace…
Chalchiutlicue slid out of my mind, leaving a great, gaping wound. I stood once more on the shores of Her lake, struggling to collect myself.
"So small," She said with a satisfied smile. "So filled with regrets and bitterness, priest. Shall I summon the past for you? Shall I summon forth the spirits of the dead?"
I knew who She wanted to summon – who had drowned in the marshes: Father. "You have no such power," I said, shaking inwardly. "The dead don't belong to you."
"Is that so?" Her smile was mocking. "The drowned are my province, and my husband's. And some others, too. Tell me now, shall I call up your father's soul from the bliss of Tlalocan?"
Father here, seeing me, seeing Neutemoc and knowing what I had done… She couldn't do that. She was powerful, but not capable of doing that. She just wanted to see me squirm. It was an empty threat. "No," I whispered. "No."
Her smile was even wider. "So small, priest." She reached out. Her huge hands folded around the knives at my belt, lifting them to the level of Her eyes and flinging them downwards into the mud. I could have wept. "Carrying your feeble magic as if it could shield you."
"We came for help," I whispered, struggling to turn the conversation elsewhere. "There is a child–"
Her face didn't move. "How convenient. And tell me: why should I help any of you? You," and She pointed to me, "with your allegiance given to another. And you and you, serving the upstart, Huitzilpochtli?"
Neutemoc hadn't intervened. So usual of him. He'd done the same when Mother had died. But now, with the goddess's finger still pointed on him, he came forward. "Your husband puts the Fifth World in danger."
The Jade Skirt laughed again. "Why should it matter to Me? I have seen five ages; and I ended the Third World. We'll start anew. We always do."
"Not so soon," I said, softly, knowing it wasn't an argument which would convince Her. "This isn't the proper time, or the proper way."
If She had been human, She would have shrugged. Instead, She made a wide, expansive gesture that made all the water of the lake spout upwards – and then fall back again, like an exhaled breath. "The proper way? Doesn't Tlaloc do what We've all wished for? Tumble the Hummingbird from His place in your Empire, and give Us back the worshippers He took from Us?"
She was, like Tlaloc, like Xochiquetzal, one of the Old Ones: the gods who had been there before Huitzilpochtli, before the Sun God. But She was also Tlaloc's wife – and the Storm Lord had cheated on Her to make His agent child. As Neutemoc had cheated on Huei. I needed to find the words…
Huei. What would have I told Huei? I closed my eyes, for a brief moment, and then said, as softly as I could, "Is this truly the way You would have wished this to go?"
Chalchiutlicue's jade-coloured eyes blinked, once, twice. "You don't always choose your way, priest."
"No," I said, thinking of Huei, who was at this moment waiting for her sacrifice. If only things could have gone another way. "Nevertheless…" She smiled again, but said nothing. "That child should have been yours," I said, softly. "But it's not."
She shook Her head, slowly, but didn't make any gesture to stop me. I took that as an encouragement. "He slept with a mortal," I said. "Instead of asking you."
When Chalchiutlicue spoke again, Her voice was lower: the soft sound of water, welling up from the earth. "It couldn't have been Mine," she said. "Any child of gods would be a god, and subject to the same limitations. But you are right in one thing, priest. He didn't ask me."
"Then–" Neutemoc started, but the Jade Skirt cut him off.
"In truth, I care little for your petty struggles. If you choose to make the Southern Hummingbird supreme, then you'll reap what you've sown. I have already had a world in which every mortal worshipped Me, where everyone gave their life's blood to sustain My course in the sky." She smiled, and this time the nostalgia was unmistakable. "Tlaloc had His world, too. But the Storm Lord has always been greedy for more."
"Don't you want revenge?" I asked, softly.
Chalchiutlicue's eyes were unfathomable. "I told you. I care little either way. Huitzilpochtli will tumble, without any need for Our intervention."
"Is there nothing that will persuade you?" I asked. "So much is at stake…" The Imperial Family. The safety of Tenochtitlan. The balance maintained by the Duality.
Laughter, like storm-waves. "You would sacrifice something to Me, priest? Your endless regrets? Your pitiful virginity, so carefully preserved? Your first-born child?" Her voice turned malicious. "But of course, that's something you've given up on."
Every word of Hers dug claws into my heart, and slowly squeezed, until the world blurred around me. "I–"
"Your allegiance?" She said. "You're sworn to another, and Mictlantecuhtli doesn't let go of what's His. You have nothing to give Me."
Neutemoc's face was white, but he didn't move. He stood as if paralysed. It was another who broke the silence.
"No," Teomitl said. "He has nothing to give. But I have." His face was transfigured by a harsh joy. Here was what he had been waiting for, all along: a chance to be useful, to prove his valour.
Chalchiutlicue turned towards him; the invisible claws around my chest opened one by one, freeing my heart. "One of the Southern Hummingbird's devotees? That's an amusing thought." Her eyes narrowed. "You're–"
"Yes," Teomitl said. He'd thrown back his warrior's cloak, revealing a simple glyph of turquoise on his chest: the colour of the Imperial Family. "Will you accept my allegiance?"
The goddess's face was a mask, and I could almost hear Her calculations. Was this a trap? An opportunity She couldn't ignore? "Your god is also jealous," She said, finally.
"But not careful," Teomitl said. "He has hundreds of devotees over the land."
Chalchiutlicue's eyes narrowed again. "But there would be no gain, would there?"
Teomitl shrugged. "I've always thought the Great Temple was disharmonious. There should be rooms for more gods, shouldn't there? For the peasants as well as the warriors; for the waters as well as the battles."
"Don't lie to Me. You're a warrior," the Jade Skirt said. "All that matters to you is glory on the battlefield."
Teomitl shook his head. "No," he said. "The only glory comes from winning battles. But there are many battlefields."
"In My realm?"
"Fighting currents," Teomitl said, simply. "Struggling not to capsize in a storm. Swimming ashore with the ahuizotls surrounding you, eager for your eyes and fingernails…"
She regarded him for a while. By Teomitl's shocked, blank gaze, She was probing into his mind, as she had into mine. "You are sincere," She said, finally. "When you become Revered Speaker – will you re-establish My worship?" She didn't, I noticed, say "if", but simply assumed it was certain that Teomitl would succeed Tizoctzin – who in turn would succeed Axayacatl-tzin.
If Teomitl noticed that, he gave no sign. "Should I ever become Revered Speaker, I'll make You and Your husband a worthy temple: a building so great that everyone will prostrate themselves on seeing it, so magnificent that it will be the talk of the land…"
Chalchiutlicue laughed, but it was amused laughter: waves lapping at a child's feet, a stream gently gurgling over stones. "Will it?" She asked. "That would be something to see indeed, child of the Obsidian Snake. I should wait for it."
"Will you accept my allegiance, then?" Teomitl asked, impatient as ever. Someone was really going to have to teach him forbearance, or he'd never survive at the Imperial Court.
The Jade Skirt watched him for a while, perhaps weighing Her choices. "That would be interesting," She said. "Amusing, if nothing else. Yes, child. I'll take your offer."
Power blazed from the heart of the lake, welling up from the earth in an irresistible geyser. It wrapped itself around Teomitl like a second mantle, sank into his skin until his bones echoed with its ponderous beat. H
e fell to his knees in the mud, gasping for breath.
Neutemoc, finally finding some energy, took a step towards him. I laid a hand on his shoulder. "Wait," I said. Intervening would just make things worse, both for Teomitl and for us.
Teomitl's head came up, in a fluid, blurred gesture that had nothing human about it. His eyes were the colour of jade: a mirror of Chalchiutlicue's triumphant gaze. His mouth opened; but all that came out was a moan, a shapeless lament.
"Feel it," Chalchiutlicue whispered. Her voice made the ground tremble under our feet. "Feel it, child of the Obsidian Snake…"
Teomitl closed his eyes. His head fell down again; his back slumped, as if under a burden too heavy to bear.
In the silence, all we could hear was his breath, slow and laboured. Something cold and slimy bumped against my legs: one of the ahuizotls, creeping closer to Teomitl. I bent down, instinctively, to recover my obsidian knives from the mud into which Chalchiutlicue had flung them.
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