Servant of the Underworld

by Aliette de Bodard

  "Acatl-tzin!"

  Hands steadied me, dragged me upwards. Blinking, I managed to bring Teomitl's face into sharp focus.

  "You…"

  "Later," Teomitl said. He was blazing: Huitzilpochtli's power streamed into the night, a warmth in my bones and on my soaked skin. I'd been wrong: he wasn't Payaxin. He was much tougher than my dead apprentice, much more adapted to survival. "We have to find some shelter."

  • • •

  The shelter turned out to be a room in the Duality House, where Mihmatini tended to my wounds with an exasperated sigh. My cloak was ruined; my belt had frayed in the battle, and my knives were gone: the obsidian blessed by Mictlantecuhtli had disintegrated in the rush of the Hummingbird's magic.

  "Acatl," Mihmatini said, shaking her head.

  Teomitl was leaning against one of the walls, watching me. "Ceyaxochitl thought you might need help getting out of the Jaguar House," he said.

  Imperial help. The words were on my lips, but wouldn't get out.

  "There," Mihmatini said, tying the last of the bandages into place. "I've put a minor spell of healing on it, but it won't hold if you overexert yourself." She stared curiously at Teomitl. "And thank you for getting him out of trouble."

  Teomitl's smile was radiant. "My pleasure. I am Teomitl." He bowed slightly.

  "Mihmatini. I'm his sister." She rolled her eyes upwards. "And designated healer, obviously. Sometimes, I wonder why I bother. You're a priest, too?"

  "Not exactly," Teomitl said. "I'm training to be a warrior. I hope to be a worthy one."

  Mihmatini smiled at him again. "I'm sure you will." There was an uncomfortable silence.

  No, not quite uncomfortable. I realised, with a shock, that she and Teomitl were both staring at each other with an interest that was obvious, and my presence here was superfluous, except as a chaperone.

  I cleared my throat, startling both of them out of their trance. "We should join Neutemoc."

  He was waiting for us in the next room, seated on a reed mat. Mihmatini hesitated on the doorstep, staring at both of us. Finally she shrugged. "I'll see you afterwards," she said to Teomitl, smiling again.

  Teomitl bowed to her. "I hope so." I shook my head, amused in spite of myself.

  Slaves brought us hot chocolate. I cradled the clay glass in my hand, feeling the warmth dissipate the last of the creatures' numbness.

  Teomitl sat cross-legged between Neutemoc and me, taking on the role of shield without realising it. Neutemoc's hands rested in his lap; clenched into fists. "What is happening, Acatl?" he asked in a tone that clearly implied I should be able to explain everything.

  "I don't know," I said. Rain was pelting the roof above our heads. But it was more than rain. Each drop that fell down was mingled with magic: a bittersweet tang that I could smell, even from inside. "Tlaloc is coming," I said.

  For revenge. For faith, Commander Quiyahuayo had said.

  A brief tinkle of bells, soon muffled, heralded Yaotl's arrival. He leant against one of the walls, his back digging into the stylised frescoes of fused lovers.

  Beside me, Teomitl was silent for a while, pondering, an uncharacteristically mature expression on his face. "My brother is weak," he said. "And as his health wanes, so does Huitzilpochtli's ability to protect us."

  Neutemoc stared at his glass of chocolate as if it held deep secrets. He said, finally, "I'd much rather believe that you're both mad."

  Teomitl said nothing.

  "But something is going on. Something unnatural," Neutemoc went on. He looked at me. Despite his grievance towards me, still believing that I could set right anything magical.

  "Tlaloc," I said. "His child – the one he and the Quetzal Flower fashioned, the one Eleuia bore within her womb – the tool for His coup. But we're not strong enough to find him. Ceyaxochitl…"

  She was the agent of the Duality in the Fifth World. She would have some powers, constrained by her human nature, but hopefully still enough to do some damage.

  Yaotl spoke up. "She's at the palace. I don't know about what you're saying. But Mistress Ceyaxochitl agrees with you: this isn't normal rain."

  She was the Guardian for the Sacred Precinct. How could she be away when such a thing happened? "She has to know–" I started.

  Yaotl shook his head. "She felt it, Acatl. But she has to remain where she is."

  "Why?" I asked, at the same moment as Neutemoc said, "The Emperor."

  Of course. The ailing Emperor: the last remnants of the Southern Hummingbird's power, our last defence against Tlaloc. If he died, nothing would protect us.

  From what? Would one god replacing another really be that disastrous? After all, Huitzilpochtli had done nothing in particular for me or mine. I thought of the creatures, mindlessly gorging on power, and of Jaguar Knights lying dead in their own Houses. The Storm Lord's rule would not be gentle.

  Teomitl was watching me, his gaze disturbingly shrewd. "The Southern Hummingbird protects us. Tlaloc is one of the Old Ones. He brings drought and floods on a whim."

  "He brings famine," I said, remembering how Eleuia had suffered during the Great Famine.

  Teomitl said, "Do you want to gamble everything on the Storm Lord's gentleness?"

  On a god's… humanity? "No," I said. "I would rather keep the old order." To gods and goddesses such as Xochiquetzal, we'd always be toys: easily subjugated, easily broken. "But we're still nothing compared to His powers. And you forget: we don't know where the child is."

  Obviously not at the palace, or the panic would be stronger than that. Commander Quiyahuayo and the Jaguar Knights had known. But they were dead now, all of them.

  "How long do you think we have?" Neutemoc asked.

  I stifled a bitter laugh. Who could tell what went on in the mind of a god?

  Yaotl detached himself from the wall. His scarred face was thoughtful. "Still some time, I'd say. If everything had been ready–"

  "Yes," I said. If everything had been ready, and the attack launched on the Imperial Palace, there would have been no need to kill the Jaguar Knights. If the creatures had done so, it was because Commander Quiyahuayo still posed a danger to them. Because the child was still vulnerable.

  "We have to find him," Teomitl said, voicing what we both thought. I wasn't sure what Neutemoc thought: if he still believed we were crazy to impugn Eleuia, to imagine wild stories of gods taking over the world.

  Yaotl's voice was grave. "Easily said."

  "Commander Quiyahuayo knew…" Neutemoc started, and then he shook his head. "He died in battle. He'll be in the Heavens, won't he? Out of your influence."

  "Yes," I said. And I wasn't fool enough to attempt another summoning without divine favour. "We need–" Help. We needed help, and from someone who both had some idea of what Tlaloc was up to, and who would be favourable to us. We needed divine powers on our side, no matter the price we had to pay. "We need to find a god," I said.

  Teomitl nodded. "Which one?" he asked, simply, never thinking of what the price or the difficulty would be.

  Not Huitzilpochtli: He was as weak as the dying Emperor, and as ignorant. Not the Quetzal Flower: She was on Tlaloc's side, and without Ceyaxochitl we would get no answers from her. Not Lord Death: my patron had made it clear that He would take no part in the Fifth World's affairs.

  Who would stand against the Storm Lord?

  I remembered Commander Quiyahuayo's words: I didn't kill her. The bitch escaped.

  An ahuizotl had killed Eleuia, dragging her down into the muddy depths of the lake, and feasting on her eyes and fingernails. An ahuizotl: a creature of Chalchiutlicue, Tlaloc's wife. His wife. And Tlaloc's child, which wasn't Hers, but Eleuia's. I doubted the Jade Skirt would have been happy about the whole affair.

  "I think I know who we can try to see," I said. "Chalchiutlicue."

  "The Storm Lord's wife?" Teomitl asked. "Why not?"

  Neutemoc grimaced. "You have no idea how to summon Her, do you?"

  I shook my head. "To ask a favour of a g
od, you don't summon. You go into Their territory." I wasn't looking forward to that: men were weak enough in the Fifth World, but in a god's land… We would be as helpless as Xochiquetzal was on earth. Perhaps even more so.

  "Into Her territory," Teomitl repeated. "Lake Texcoco?"

  "No. Into Tlalocan." The Blessed Land of the Drowned, where Chalchiutlicue had Her gardens.

  It was also Tlaloc's country; but I was hoping that the god would be too busy with His child to pay much attention to us.

  Neutemoc snorted. "And you know how to get there?"

  Tlalocan, as I had seen, was closed to me. But the way might yet be opened for us, by someone who had the Jade Skirt's favour.

  "I know a priest," I said. Half a lie. Eliztac hadn't been helpful last time I'd seen him. But he was the only priest of Chalchiutlicue I'd had dealings with. I tried, resolutely, not to think of Huei. Surely, if I could appeal to Huei…

  But it wasn't my place. "You and I can go to see him," I went on.

  Yaotl nodded. "Teomitl and I will stay here, to inform Mistress Ceyaxochitl when she gets back."

  I visited, briefly, Ceyaxochitl's storehouse: a low, pillared room with row upon row of magical objects – everything Guardians had thought might be useful in the event of an emergency. At the back was a box made of glued human bones; and inside I found what I was looking for: ten obsidian knives pulsing with the magic of Mictlan. I withdrew three from the box, and put them into the sheaths at my belt, to replace those I had lost.

  Under the thatch awning of the courtyard, I packed ceramic bowls and polished maguey thorns into a new bag. I was almost finished when footsteps echoed under the awning.

  "Acatl-tzin?" Teomitl's voice asked.

  I raised my eyes, briefly, knowing why he was here. "Yes?"

  "I–" He looked at me, biting his lips. "Let me come with you and Neutemoc."

  "It's too dangerous. I've already put you in danger too much as it is."

  Teomitl shook his head, half-exasperated. "I won't be coddled. I'm a warrior, not some old-woman priest…" He stopped, his face hardening. "I'm sorry."

  At least he had the honesty to voice the warriors' prejudice aloud. "You're heir-apparent to the Mexica Empire."

  "My brother isn't dead," Teomitl said, fiercely. "Tizoc is still Master of the House of Darts."

  "He's very ill," I said. "Lord Death waits for him. And when that moment comes–"

  "It hasn't come." He held himself straight, impatiently. "I have to prove myself. You'd deny me that?"

  Ceyaxochitl had asked me the same question. I made him the same answer. "I'm not your testing ground," I said.

  "I'm not asking you to be," he snapped. "Just to let me have my chance. You heard Mahuizoh. 'An unbloodied pup'. That will be all they think of me, at the Imperial Court. By your doing."

  The accusation, as unfair as it was, didn't ring quite true in his mouth. "It's not the Court you're trying to impress," I said. "Nor was it the Court you thought of when you followed Eleuia."

  Teomitl said nothing. He watched me, one hand on his macuahitl sword. "No," he said. "But it doesn't concern you."

  "Doesn't it?" I finished packing my bag, and laid it aside.

  He met my gaze squarely. "Let me come. Or I'll be as nothing."

  "To whom?" I asked.

  "To her," he snapped, throwing the pronoun into the air like an offering to a god. "Who else?"

  I didn't move. I simply asked, "Her?"

  "Huitzilxochtin," Teomitl said. "My mother." When I still didn't speak, he said, "She was strong and she fought to the end, but it was all for nothing. She died bearing me. And I–" His voice was bitter. "I am nothing. I have no great battles behind me, nor feats of arms."

  "Battle isn't the only way to prove yourself," I said, finally. But in my mind were my parents' voices, whispering about how wrong I was, how there was no glory, no honour outside the battlefield. About how I'd failed. "And where we're going… That's no battlefield."

  Teomitl smiled. "There are battles everywhere," he said. "You just have to know where to look."

  I'd forgotten the ease with which he could take control of a conversation. "That doesn't change anything. I can't risk your life."

  "It's not yours to risk," Teomitl said. He didn't sound as angry as he'd been. Just thoughtful. "It's mine, and I do what I want with it."

  "I–" I said.

  "Is it so hard? You let me come, when you thought I was a calmecac student. Nothing has changed. We're still the same."

  Why couldn't he see that everything had changed? "I can't be your testing ground," I repeated. I couldn't face the repercussions of taking him with us. What if Axayacatl-tzin died tonight, and Tizoc-tzin became Revered Speaker? I'd have endangered the life of the heir-apparent.

  Teomitl watched me for a while, his brown eyes shrewd. Behind him, in the courtyard of the Duality House, the rain fell in a steady patter – the Storm Lord's magic slowly, steadily seeping into the earth. "Why? It's a simple thing."

  He was wrong. Things were never that simple. "I can't. Let someone else…"

  I met his eyes – my apprentice Payaxin's eyes, eager to do what was right – and I realised what I was saying. Let someone else shoulder this burden. Let me go on as if nothing had changed. It was fear that made me say that: fear and nothing else. But I was no coward. No warrior – there were some things for which I would never find the courage – but no coward.

  "Very well," I said, finally. "You can come."

  We stopped to see Mihmatini briefly. She'd followed Neutemoc's household into one of the Duality House's vast rooms. Reed mats were spread on the floor; both Mazatl and Ollin were already asleep. Mihmatini sat cross-legged against the wall. Over her was a fresco depicting the Duality's Heaven. Under the gaze of the fused lovers, a tree grew out of the waters, the shadowy souls of babies clinging to its trunk as if to their mothers' breasts. Dead babies: the Duality's Heaven was the only place that would receive the souls of unweaned children, preserving them until they could be reborn.

  Dead babies. I was reminded, uneasily, of the bones in Ceyaxochitl's possession, and of the god-child we were seeking.

  Mihmatini, oblivious to my thoughts, smiled tiredly at me. I couldn't help noticing, though, that her brightest smile was reserved for Teomitl, who had followed us into the room.

  Neutemoc stopped to stroke Ollin's forehead: the baby's face shifted, and settled into a pleased smile. Neutemoc's face, a careful mask, cracked. He knelt by his son's cradle, and watched him sleep, his lips moving to whisper a mournful lullaby.

  Sweat had stained Mihmatini's cotton shirt, and the dark circles under her eyes were, if anything, more accented.

  "Get some sleep," I said. "Don't worry."

  "I am worrying," Mihmatini said, tartly. "You'd have to be a fool not to, with that rain."

  "It's dangerous," Teomitl said.

  "You can feel it?" I asked Mihmatini.

  She shook her head. "I'm not sensitive enough. Yaotl told me."

  "Yaotl," I said, not quite over my rancour yet, "interferes with what doesn't concern him."

  She smiled. "Don't we all?" Without waiting for my answer, she turned to watch Neutemoc, who was still kneeling by Ollin's cradle.

  "He tries so hard to be a good head of his household," she said, with a sigh.

  Something unnameable shifted in my chest, until I could hardly breathe. "Yes," I said, finally. "But the way he behaved towards Huei…"

  Mihmatini didn't answer at once. Her face had grown dark. "Let's forget Huei for the moment."

  I couldn't. "We'll be going out again," I said, finally.

  Mihmatini shifted. "Then I'll renew the protection spells on you. Although they really don't hold on you, Acatl. And you–" She looked at Teomitl. "You definitely don't need me to cast a spell on you."

  Teomitl's face fell. "You're sure?" he asked. "Another kind of spell, perhaps?"

  Mihmatini suppressed a smile. "Men," she said, shaking her head, but she didn't so
und angry. Quite the contrary, in fact.

  There would be time to work this out later, if we survived.

  Once Mihmatini finished casting the spell, we went back into the streets. By then, it was raining heavily. Storm clouds had drowned the sun, and the light falling on the Sacred Precinct was as weak as that of evening, even though it was barely noon.

  Teomitl took the lead, filled with his boundless energy. In the gloom, his spell of protection shone like a beacon: a much, much stronger construction that the ones Mihmatini had laid on us.