Young Jaguar, The

by Saadia, Zoe

  He crossed the marble partition and was about to sneak toward the opening, when a powerful blow from behind sent him sprawling. He pushed at the cold stones and rolled away, managing to avoid a vicious kick from a thick sandal.

  Two warriors stood above, peering at him, astounded and indignant.

  “What, in the name of the Underworld…?” cried out one. His sandal tried to reach for Atolli’s ribs.

  “Wait!” yelled Atolli, somehow managing to leap onto his feet. “Wait, I have something very important to tell the Warlord. You have to let me in! You have to!”

  The warriors stared at him, wide-eyed.

  “And who are you? A divine messenger?” asked one.

  His companion doubled over with laughter.

  “Listen, it’s important. Please, just send for him. Please!”

  “How did you get here, you little piece of dung?” asked the first warrior, stepping forward, pressing against Atolli. “Did you climb this terrace? Did you?”

  It took him an effort not to step back, the giant frame of his assailant intimidating, sending screams of alarm down his spine.

  “Just call for him. Please! If he refuses to see me, then you can kill me for climbing this terrace.”

  “I can kill you right now. I don’t need to stand your conditions to do that.”

  “But what if I’m right? The Warlord would be really angry if you killed me before I could relate my message to him.”

  The warrior glanced at his friend. “The little piece of dirt has guts, eh? What do you think? Shall we check with the Honorable Leader first?”

  The second warrior measured Atolli with a glance. “I don’t think so. Look at him, all scratched and dirty, looking worse than a beaten slave. Would you dare bring something like that in front of the Honorable Leader?”

  “You don’t have to allow me in,” said Atolli hurriedly, sensing the first warrior’s indecisiveness. “Just tell the Warlord. Tell him Atolli needs to see him urgently.”

  The man laughed. “Would he know you by some strange nickname?”

  “Please.” He tried to control his welling panic. “It’s so very urgent!”

  The formidable palm dug into his shoulder painfully. “Come, and if he won’t see you, I’ll chop you into twenty little pieces, personally and with a great pleasure. See this sword?” The palm pressed harder, making Atolli bend and watch the obsidian sword attached to the formidable thigh. “All those sharp obsidians will be chopping at you piece by piece. Get it?”

  Atolli nodded. His throat was so parched he didn’t trust it to form the words.

  ***

  The Emperor reclined on what looked like a palanquin that was not to be carried. Maybe it was a podium cushioned with so many padded mats one couldn’t see what it was made of. He picked at various plates spread in front of him with a lack of interest, listening to his Chief Warlord, face sealed.

  Atolli hardly spared the mighty ruler a glance. He had never seen the Emperor, any emperor, at such close proximity. No youth of his age and status would have seen the mighty ruler except from a great distance, through the state celebrations, when the Revered One would poise on the top of the Pyramid, amid his faithful servants and priests. Until yesterday he would have killed for such an opportunity as this, but now his eyes were glued to his father’s face.

  Unable to tear his gaze away, he watched the formidable man he had worshipped all his life, talking in a calm, measured way, honoring the mighty Emperor but not afraid of him. Oh, his father was a great warrior.

  Yet, this morning Atolli could see the man was far from being at his best. The wide back was as firm and erect as always, but it seemed to take the Warlord some effort to keep it straight. The massive shoulders sagged imperceptibly; the wide palm clutched the sword’s handle a little too tightly.

  However, it was nothing compared to Father’s face which looked the worst, haggard and thin, the high cheekbones protruding, eyes puffy and red-rimmed, the gash across his cheek glaring ugly and fresh, running down his neck to disappear into the depths of the plain unadorned cloak.

  Atolli’s stomach twisted. To hear about his father’s previous night’s adventures was one thing, but to see the results of those was quite another.

  His capturer was busy talking to the warriors guarding the entrance. Both shrugged at the hesitant explanation, eyeing Atolli’s dirty barefoot appearance with an open contempt.

  “Go in and talk to the Warlord yourself, if you think this piece of dirt worthy of his attention,” said one of the guards. “You really act strange sometimes, Cuatl, you know that?”

  The giant warrior narrowed his eyes. “Just keep an eye on him.”

  His heart pounding, Atolli watched the giant warrior lingering at some distance, waiting to be noticed. The knot in his stomach was as tight as a rubber ball. Come on, he thought. It’s so very urgent.

  To his relief, the Warlord’s honed instincts sensed the warrior’s impatience as he turned and asked something, listening to the hesitated explanation.

  Cuatl hurried back. “He’ll be here shortly.” The formidable palm grabbed Atolli’s shoulder once again. “If it’s something stupid, you are a dead man,” he hissed, clearly regretting starting the whole business.

  Atolli was not so sure of himself either anymore. Hurry up, he thought, watching the Emperor fiddling with his food, and his Warlord still talking calmly. Finally, Father nodded and headed out toward the corridor.

  The look on his face when he saw Atolli was difficult to comprehend. Eyes wide open and gaping, the man stared at his son with such an astounded, painful surprise, Atolli wanted to laugh. Nervously at that.

  Cuatl’s fingers dug deeper into his shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry, Honorable Warlord,” the formidable warrior mumbled. “This boy had insisted to see you. He just wouldn’t give up. So I thought it might be important. I apologize if I was wrong.” The last words trailed off.

  Atolli knew his shoulder bones would crack any moment. He fought to break free. To no avail.

  “Let him go.” Father’s voice was calm, in full control.

  Atolli moved his numb shoulder, making sure it still worked.

  “What was so urgent you wanted to see me about?”

  He forced himself to meet the stern, almost hostile gaze.

  “I… I’m sorry… sorry for breaking in like that. I just… I thought it might be urgent. Well, it is urgent.” He licked his lips, but it didn’t help. His mouth was as dry as the earth after many summers of drought. He wished he could get a gulp of water.

  “What is it?”

  He took a deep breath. “The First Son’s warriors are about to storm this part of the Palace.”

  They all gasped, even the warriors behind his back.

  “Impossible!” whispered someone. “They would never dare!”

  His father was the only one to display no reaction. He stood there motionless as if turned into a marble statue. “How do you know?”

  There was no way around this. “I overheard them. Just before dawn.” He cleared his throat. “The leaders of the guard. The First Son’s guard. But they are now many, many more than that.”

  “How many?”

  “Two, three times twenty.”

  He could hear the warriors shifting nervously. The silence hung, preying upon everyone’s nerves.

  “Do you believe it, Honorable Leader?” whispered Cuatl.

  “Yes, I do.” Tecpatl sighed and Atolli marveled at his father’s self control. Aside from the set jaw, his face remained closed, impossible to read. “We organize the men we have,” he said finally. “How many of the guard warriors are present?”

  “About twenty men,” said one of the warriors.

  “Enough to hold on against a short siege.”

  The warriors gasped. Then Cuatl gathered his courage. “Do you know this boy? Can he be trusted?”

  The Warlord’s face did not change. “Yes, this boy is my son.”

  Another gasp from
all of those present. The Warlord paid them no attention.

  “Cuatl,” he said. “Round up a few men, no more than three or four. Go out and find what takes my warriors, the elite ones, so long to arrive.”

  “Gladly, Honorable Leader.” The tall man looked relieved. “We’ll be back soon.”

  “They will watch the gates and the roads outside,” said Atolli, and they all turned to him, startled. He was not supposed to offer an advance.

  “What do you know about that?” asked Tecpatl hoarsely. He had not yet talked to his son, and Atolli was grateful even for those curt words.

  He licked his lips. “I don’t. But it does make sense. They are more numerous than you… than the Emperor’s forces.” He took a deep breath. “They would try to prevent, wouldn’t they? Anyone going out, to hurry our people…”

  His father's gaze concentrated. The red-rimmed eyes narrowed, studying Atolli with a measure of new respect. He remembered another occasion, not very long ago, when his father was also disappointed with him so deeply and thoroughly, and then he said… what did he say?

  He straightened his gaze, afraid to believe it just yet. “I’m sorry if I didn’t make much sense,” he whispered.

  “Well, actually you did.” Tecpatl turned to the giant warrior. “Try to go out as unnoticeably as you can.”

  “Not by the gates?”

  “No.”

  The warrior frowned. “All right, we’ll find a way.”

  “The wall facing the markets is usually not guarded. It’s low and easy to climb.”

  They stared at him once again and Cuatl’s mouth began to twitch. “You climbed it, didn’t you, jaguar boy?”

  Atolli lowered his gaze.

  Their smiles widened. “How many times?”

  He shrugged, but now even his father was grinning. One edge of his mouth went up uninterrupted, while the other moved awkwardly, shifting the crimson crust of his cut cheek.

  Atolli’s stomach twisted, but he tried to suppress his feelings. Then the idea flashed. “I’ll go and find Amatl and his warriors.”

  His father’s smile disappeared. “No. Go down the hall, and tell the slaves to help you wash and change, then come back here.” He turned to Cuatl. “Are you up to scaling walls? If that’s the situation, you will have to do with even less men. Only you and one other warrior.”

  “But Father…”

  Tecpatl whirled at him. “Do as you are told!”

  Taken aback, Atolli stared at his father’s face, seeing the sudden anger spilling out of the sunken, red-rimmed eyes. There were dark rings around them, and the rage was bubbling near the surface, threatening to get out of control. Yet, he felt no fear. Only compassion.

  “Father, please listen,” he said quietly. “Please. They’ll be watching the coming and going. When your forces come, no one will dare to try to stop them. A pair of warriors trying to sneak out is sure to get noticed. While a boy of no consequence? I can climb those walls so easily. I did it many times. I sneaked out of school twenty times and more. I got caught only once, and it was because of the octli. But I did it many, many times. I can sneak out undetected. I can run all over the city and no one will notice me. I stand a good chance of finding your people. Better than them, with all due respect.” The eyes boring into him were softening again. “Please, let me try to help. I did so many stupid things recently. Please, let me try to straighten this up, to make it right.”

  One side of the thin mouth twitched again. This time the smile reached the dark eyes.

  “It won’t make it right, you know,” said the man softly. “But it will help me to see what sort of a man you are. I judged you wrongly, time after time. I’m sorry about that.” A one-sided grin widened, but humorlessly so. “Be careful and hurry back.” He looked at Cuatl. “Go together. And keep an eye on each other.”

  Chapter 16

  She watched the sun rising up beyond the Great Pyramid. It was the second morning in a row that she sat there, longing for the sunrise, fearing its coming. She had come to hate this previously favorite spot upon the flat roof. It made her feel lonelier with every passing moment.

  Sighing, she rubbed her eyes. There would be dark rings around them now, she knew. She hadn't gotten much sleep through these past two days. She hardly slept at all since the night before the last, when she had still enjoyed the luxury of lying in his arms.

  She shivered. Would she ever enjoy a good night’s sleep again? Without his arms around her, without his touch, without his presence, his smell – what kind of nights would those be? It was bad enough with his frequent absences, with all his endless campaigns, but now…

  She clasped her palms tight. Why hadn’t she run after him into the rain? She should have. She should have stopped him at all costs. She should have made him come in and relax and forget all that silly nonsense.

  How could he think she would go out to see another man? She, who loved him so much! She should have stopped him by any means. But she was too stunned, his sudden appearance, his accusations, his disoriented drunken state coming as an utter surprise. He had not been the Tecpatl she’d loved for fifteen wonderful summers. Still, it was him all right – someone who would never hurt her, even in the middle of such a monumental rage.

  Where was he now? Was he still asleep, difficult to wake up after drinking so much octli?

  Last night she had been tempted to find another flask all for herself. If he might resort to such means in order to dull the pain, so could she. But then, she remembered her meeting with the formidable Uncle of his. She needed her senses as sharp as the obsidian spikes of her husband’s sword for today.

  Stealing a last glance at the bright cloudless sky, she ran down the wide stairs.

  “Make my litter ready,” she said to her maid, passing by the kitchen areas. She sniffed the air. “Also make a few tortillas with honey and bring them to my rooms.”

  The maid shifted uncomfortably. “Mistress,” she said in her thick Mayan accent. “You cannot leave the house, remember? But I’ll be glad to bring you the tortillas,” she added hurriedly.

  Sakuna stared at the woman, speechless. “You can’t be serious.”

  The woman examined the floor. “The Master said so. You heard him too.”

  “The Master was drunk and out of his senses,” said Sakuna, feeling the buds of welling panic.

  The woman kept studying the floor.

  “Do you want to tell me you will be holding me here against my will, because of something Tecpatl said when completely drunk and not responsible for what he was saying?” She heard her voice gaining a shrill note and made an effort to control herself. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

  “I’ll get you your tortillas, Mistress,” said the woman and fled.

  Sakuna felt her heart pumping, rushing the blood up to her face. Her palms shot to her burning cheeks. Would they really dare to hold her here against her will? Could they?

  She fought the impulse to cross the hall in order to reach the main entrance. Would they drag her back, should she try to walk out? The temptation to check it was great. She was not a toy, not a little girl to be locked in her room. Or the house!

  She clutched the woven podium beside one of the walls. What he had said last night made no sense. Well, it did. But not for them, surely. The Tepanec women were, indeed, property of their men, their fathers, their brothers, their husbands, yet it had nothing to do with her and Tecpatl. She wasn’t his property. She was not the property of anyone. She was a person, and she would go wherever she pleased.

  Once her father had tried to treat her like that, angered at Tecpatl and desperate to take things back under control. But then Tecpatl was there, ready to fight alongside her, the way she had always fought by his side too. They were together in this ever since. No, he would never treat her like that, never!

  She made her way into her set of rooms to find the sweetened tortillas and the slaves nowhere to be seen. Except for the sturdy fellow loitering around the main entrance.r />
  She clutched her hands together, to stop them from trembling. Filthy rats, every one of them. What did they know about her and Tecpatl? They really thought she was his property.

  The sun shone brightly through the opening in the plastered wall. She watched it thoughtfully. What now? To wait for him? She cursed. Her days were reduced to this desperate waiting. The world was coming crushing down, and all she could do was wait for him.

  Then she remembered, and her back broke out in a cold sweat. His Uncle would send someone to pick up the herbs around high noon. To pick up the poison she was supposed to prepare.

  Her stomach twisted, for of course, she could make no poisons; she was not that good with herbs. She was playing a desperate game, to buy time for Tecpatl, to make them postpone the attempt on his life until he came home and she could warn him. But then, he had come, and she had not been able to warn him and now he was out there, desperate and drunk, and furious with her into the bargain. Now even less ready to fight an attack that might come.

  Sitting upon the mat, she stared out of the window. Well, until noon he was safe. So all she had to do was procure this filthy poison his Uncle was so anxious to dump into the Emperor’s plate. The emperor could die for all she cared, as long as Tecpatl would be left alive.

  As she rummaged through her chests of clothes, a slender shadow fell across the room. Whirling about, ready to take her frustration out on the cheeky slaves, she almost welcomed the opportunity to lose her temper after all those summers of their insolence.

  Flower stood at the doorway.

  “What are you doing?” asked the girl warily, eyeing the clothes thrown around the room.

  “Good morning, sweet one. You are up early.” She smiled at her daughter, forcing herself to calm down.

  “Of course I’m up early. There is this ceremony in the Feathered Serpent’s temple you were sure to forget about.”

  Sakuna brought her palm to her lips. The ceremony she had promised to take the girl to.

  “I’m so sorry. You are right. But listen, there is a problem—”