Servant of the Underworld

by Aliette de Bodard

  Mine the heart that longs for other hearts

  Mine the memories of the true hunter."

  The world flashed, then went dark. When I opened my eyes I wasn't in the chinamitl any more but tumbling through an open gateway, into a house that was hauntingly familiar.

  The sun hadn't yet set. I shied away from the light, growling softly, longing for the coldness of the Eighth Level, for the dry, clean smells of Mictlan. Here everything hurt, from the light to the sharp odour of maize wafting through the door.

  A man laughed, high above me. I couldn't see his face: just a warm, beating heart with many years of life ahead of it. "Such a powerful one. A very impressive summoning, my Lady."

  Another voice, deeper and graver. The heartbeat of this one was strong, brash. I salivated at the thought of devouring it. "Don't gape. It is adequate for the task."

  A sullen laugh.

  "My Lady, you know what we need," the voice said, turning to the third person, the one who hadn't yet spoken: an angry heart, all twisted out of shape by hatred. "Wait for night. And remember, do not kill. We need her alive."

  "I know exactly what you need," the woman said. And the voice… The voice, too, was hauntingly familiar.

  No. It could not be.

  She knelt to grasp my head, raising my gaze towards her face. Her smell was intoxicating: anger and hatred and envy, all swirling around something else I couldn't name – and her heart… Such a young, delicate heart…

  "This is what you will do," she said.

  And there was no doubt left; none at all. For the voice, unmistakably, belonged to my brother's wife, Huei.

  I must have closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was lying in the middle of the circle, sprawled over the beast's body. My chest ached fiercely under the bandages.

  Teomitl's scowling face entered my field of vision. "I told you–"

  "Not to move around. I know," I said, taking the hand he offered me, and rising. Around us, the moon cast its light on the desolate Floating Garden: the place where I'd accessed the beast's memories was now nothing more than a circle of charred ashes, blackened earth which would take years to heal. Mictlan's magic was anathema to life; and the beast had been bursting with it.

  More damage to the harvest. Just what I needed. I tried to remain focused on this – to forget what I had seen – but I couldn't.

  Huei.

  My brother's wife had summoned the beast.

  Why?

  She hadn't seemed… I shook my head. She had seemed sincere; but, then, like Neutemoc, she had moved away from me in four years. She was no longer my only ally in my brother's house, but something else entirely.

  It wouldn't matter. A chill was working its way into my bones. Summoning a beast of shadows carried its own penalty. The Wind of Knives would soon appear in Tenochtitlan, to kill Huei for her transgression.

  What would I tell Neutemoc, when he came home to find his wife dead? Neutemoc was innocent of everything save adultery; but that thought didn't bring me any relief.

  No. There had to be some explanation. Something. Anything that would explain the utter failure of Huei's marriage.

  "We need to get back to the city," I said to Teomitl.

  He rowed me back to the shore in silence. As the oars splashed into the lake, I kept wondering when I would feel the first touch of cold on my spine. Seven years ago, I had merged my mind with the Wind of Knives to bring down an agent of Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror, and that mind-link had never quite died. When the Wind entered the Fifth World, I would know.

  Teomitl was too tired to row farther than he had to. And I was not in a state to row either, with my injured arm. We left the boat at the edge of the Floating Gardens and walked north, back into the city of Tenochtitlan proper.

  Teomitl didn't speak until we were walking once more on the familiar streets of the Moyotlan district, with the grand adobe houses of the wealthy rising all around us. "Where to?" he asked. He was leaning on his crutch, his face transfigured by eagerness. I hated to dash his hopes, but there were things I couldn't let him see.

  "Home, for you," I said. I did not want to face the Wind of Knives; to face the darkness and the coldness, to plead for Huei's life even though I knew the Wind could not be swayed. But this was something that I would do alone. I would not drag someone else into it. The Wind of Knives would merely cut them down like maize, dispassionately judging that they had no right to speak with Him.

  "What?" Teomitl asked. "You promised–"

  "No," I said, hating myself for my cowardice. "I allowed you to come with me. But what happens now is something you're not prepared for."

  No, not prepared for. That while my married brother was busy courting a priestess, his own wife, Huei, plotted with shadowy figures to get her revenge.

  "I'm prepared," Teomitl said, sullenly.

  "You're in no state to fight."

  I could have predicted his next remark. "Neither are you."

  "No," I said. "But there are other ways to fight." Even magical weapons would shatter against the Wind of Knives, and nothing would stop or sway Him. How could Huei have been so foolish?

  Teomitl was still watching me. "Go home," I said, as gently as I could. "I'll call on you the next time there is something, promise. But this isn't the right time."

  "I don't see why," Teomitl said. But he looked down, at his splinted leg, and sighed. "You'll summon me?"

  "Promise," I said, praying that the next time I was involved with the underworld, it would be safe enough for him to accompany me. "Go home, and take care of that leg."

  "Very well," Teomitl said, grudgingly. "But I'll hold you to this, Acatl-tzin." He started limping towards the Sacred Precinct, then turned, a few paces from me. "And don't forget to be careful with those wounds!"

  His attitude – thoughtless arrogance, the strange, buoyant mood that propelled him through life – was not only that of a warrior, but that of a nobleman's son. Where had Ceyaxochitl found him?

  Left to my own devices, I walked back to Neutemoc's house. I made my way through the network of Tenochtitlan's canals – under deserted bridges, past houses lit up by late-night revelry, where snatches of music and loud laugher wafted into the street, a memory of what I couldn't have.

  I prayed that there was still time left to avert the disaster.

  TEN

  Mictlan's Justice

  Despite the late hour, Neutemoc's house was still lit, though the only sounds that pierced the night were the lilting tones of a poet reciting his latest composition. Cradling my bandaged arm in my good hand, I walked to the door.

  "Yes?" the slave who was guarding the entrance to the courtyard asked. He was a burly man, with macuahitl scars on his legs: a veteran of some battlefield, though only the Duality knew how he had fallen low enough to sell himself into slavery. "What do you want?" His voice was contemptuous.

  Only then did I realise what I must look like. My cloak had been torn to make the bandages that now covered my naked chest, and I stank of pulque alcohol like a base drunkard. In fact, it was a good thing I hadn't met a guard on my way through the city, or I'd have been arrested for drunkenness. And for a priest, that offence carried the death penalty.

  "I'm Huei's brother-in-law," I said. "I need to see her."

  "She has no time for–" The slave sniffed.

  "Beggars?" I asked, infuriated. "I've looked better,

  but I'm certainly not about to ask for her charity. Will you let me in?"

  He didn't look as though he was about to. Luckily for me, someone crossed the courtyard to see what was causing all the noise.

  "Acatl?" my sister Mihmatini asked. She wore a pristine dress of white cotton, with a simple embroidery of sea-shells along the hem, and her hair was impeccably combed.

  I felt ashamed of what I looked like, compared to her. "Can you convince the guard here to let me in? I need to speak to Huei, quickly."

  "Huei?" Her eyes widened. "Is it about Neutemoc?"

  I sh
ook my head. I still hadn't felt the familiar cold in my bones. But I was trying not to think of the old, old cenote south of Tenochtitlan, the fissure opening in the rock to reveal the stillness of an underground lake; and how the air above that lake would be growing darker and darker, as the Wind of Knives coalesced into existence at the only gateway He could pass through without being summoned.

  "I need to talk to her," I said.

  "If you wish, if you wish," Mihmatini said, sniffing. "He's with me," she announced to the slave, who clearly disapproved but didn't dare contradict her. "You're hurt," she added, to me, as I stepped gingerly into the courtyard. "What in the Fifth World have you been doing?"

  "Later. Please."

  Mihmatini grimaced, but she asked no further questions as she led me into the reception room.

  It was almost deserted, though bearing the traces of a long banquet: remnants of food in clay dishes, left on the reed mats; the smell of copal incense thick in the air, barely disguising that of spices and chocolate; and feather-fans, left propped against the dais. Only Huei and a few slaves remained – and the poet: an old man with a cloak of red cotton, and a headdress of yellow feathers, who turned to us with a hostile gaze as we entered.

  "And what is the meaning of this?" he asked, drawing himself to his full height.

  Too tired to bother with politeness, I merely jerked a finger in the direction of the entrance-curtain. "Get out."

  "I am Icnoyotl, the Flower Speaker of Coatlan. I can't be dismissed like a slave boy."

  "Actually," I said, marching towards him, "I think you can. Get out. Or I'll throw you out."

  A doubtful argument, given my wounds, and he knew it.

  Huei's gaze moved from me to the poet, and she said, "Icnoyotl, can you leave us alone? I'll pay you tomorrow."

  "It's not about payment," the poet grumbled as he wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. "A man has his pride, you know. Professional pride…"

  Huei also gestured for the slaves to step out. They scattered into the night like a frightened flock of birds. I didn't care. Not any more.

  "So," Huei said when the poet had left, escorted by Mihmatini. Neutemoc's wife sat, gracefully, on the dais, wearing a skirt embroidered with running deer, and a matching shirt. Around her wrists were bracelets of gold and jade: Neutemoc's wedding gift to her, a token of their love.

  A lie. Had there ever been love, in their marriage? Had she ever been truthful with me?

  "What do you want, Acatl?" Her voice was frosty. "I hope you have a good reason for offending Icnoyotl."

  I was too tired to exchange pleasantries with her. "How could you have been such a fool, Huei?"

  Her hand went to her throat. "I don't understand you."

  "You understand me very well," I snapped. "You summoned that beast. You asked it to abduct Eleuia, and you thought you'd never be discovered."

  "You're insane," she said, her eyes widening slightly.

  But I wasn't deceived. She'd already proved that she was a good liar.

  "I'm not insane," I said. "One thing nobody told you about beasts of shadows: they remember the first moments after their summoning. And their memories can be accessed."

  Huei shook her head. "You're lying, Acatl."

  Couldn't she see? The Duality curse her, couldn't she see? "I'm not here to arrest you," I all but screamed, heedless of the slaves, who were now clustering at the entrance. "This is your life we're talking about. Don't you know the penalty for breaching the boundary?"

  "Acatl…"

  How could people be so ignorant of the boundaries that I maintained, of the price for dealing with the underworld – as if all that mattered was capturing prisoners and offering their hearts to the Sun God?

  "Death, Huei. That's the price: an obsidian shard embedded in your heart, and the Wind of Knives carrying away your soul. What were you thinking of? You just can't play around with the boundaries!" A cold feeling was starting to work its way down my spine, but I couldn't tell how much of it I was imagining. He couldn't already be at the underground cavern, could He?

  She said nothing. She was watching me, her face expressionless; and she still hadn't moved from her dais.

  "How could you have been such a fool?" I asked, the question I'd been holding in my mind finally released. "You had everything. Why endanger it all?"

  She inclined her head, a gesture as slow and stately as an imperial wife's. "You're the one who doesn't understand, Acatl." Her eyes were harsh. "Neutemoc was the one who gave us all of this: the house, the jade and feathers–" Her hands moved, encompassed the rich frescoes on the walls, the silver and jade ornaments on the wicker chests. "And he would have thrown it away for a whore's open legs. He was unhappy for a few months, and he'd take some ephemeral comfort, never seeing the consequences? I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let him go."

  "You loved him," I said, shocked. The coldness was halfway down my spine now. "You'd have killed him?"

  Her hands clenched in a spasmodic gesture. "He wasn't supposed to be there, the Storm Lord smite him! He was supposed to be coming home." And for the first time I heard the emotion she'd been hiding beneath her haughty mask: not fear or anger, but despair. And it hurt me to the core.

  "And finding you reeking of magic?" Some part of me knew that I was wasting time; that the coldness was all the way down my spine, and already a faint lament echoed in my ears. But I couldn't help it. I thought I had understood her, that we had trusted each other, and everything had been a lie.

  "He would never have known," Huei said. "And he would have come back to me in time. The children would have been safe."

  "No," I said. You couldn't rebuild on a canker. You couldn't go forward with a lie, any more than you could force maize burnt by Mictlan's touch to grow again. But she wouldn't see that. I couldn't make her see.

  "Acatl?" Mihmatini's puzzled voice. "Can I have an explanation?"

  I turned, briefly. She'd pushed aside the slaves with an authority I hadn't known she possessed. Suddenly, I remembered the stakes; and that I was standing there, wasting time arguing with Huei. "It's not the time," I snapped, more violently than I'd intended to. And, to Huei: "You still don't understand. The Wind of Knives is coming for you. To kill you."

  For the first time, Huei looked uncertain. "I don't–" she started.

  "You must have known the penalty," I said. "Please tell me you knew it."

  And when she turned to look at me, her eyes widening in panic, I knew that she hadn't been the mind behind all of this. Someone had used her, and discarded her like a broken clay toy, knowing that she would die, putting an end to embarrassing questions. "You did not," I said. "Who told you how to summon the beast, Huei?"

  I could feel the Wind now: a pressure in the back of my mind. He was moving north along the Itzapalapan causeway, gathering shadows around Him like shrouds. He was coming rapidly, covering in a few minutes what had taken Teomitl and me half an hour of running.

  "That's my own concern." Huei was moving away from the dais, trying to get away from me.

  I shook my head. "Not any more. Not from the moment you breached the boundaries. Who was it, Huei?"

  Her smile was bitter. "And if I tell you… what then, Acatl? Will you protect me from the Wind of Knives?"

  "I can't," I whispered, feeling the growing hollow in my stomach. I had been a fool to return here, hoping for answers, hoping I could safeguard my brother's perfect family, the pinnacle of achievement I couldn't reach. "I–"

  "No," Huei said. Her voice was sad, but she held herself with the bearing of an Imperial Wife. "You've never understood, Acatl. I gave everything to this marriage, and Neutemoc repaid nothing to me. One grows tired of a hundred slights, of the casual gestures of indifference. One grows tired of wondering when one's husband will finally abandon his own household."

  Every one of her words was a knife wound in my gut. Neutemoc couldn't have been so stupid. He…

  But I had seen how much he desired Eleuia.

 
; "Huei," I whispered, but she looked at me, straight and tall, and she didn't answer.

  Mihmatini had been watching us, growing more and more horrified with each word. "Acatl," she said. "You don't mean…"

  When she was younger, on my rare holidays from the calmecac, I'd shared with her the tales of the priests, trying to impress her with all the beasts we'd have to fight, deluding myself I could play the warrior. She knew about the Wind of Knives, and she knew why He was coming.

  "It doesn't concern you," I said.

  Her eyebrows shot up. "I live in the same house, don't I?"