Young Jaguar, The

by Saadia, Zoe

  Sakuna felt Eek’s arm sliding down her waist, tucking something into her palm. The cold touch of sharp obsidian made her wince.

  The warriors stepped closer, but were startled by the sharp call of their leader.

  “You two. Move on. Leave the market cihua alone; they’ll wait for you. First the Palace.”

  Sakuna shivered, recognizing the voice. It was one of the men who had escorted her home last night, after her interview with Tecpatl’s Uncle.

  She took another step back, but the man was already nearing.

  “Move on,” he repeated, and the warriors backed away reluctantly.

  His gaze brushed past them both, dwelling upon Eek, clearly aroused by her striking appearance. For another heartbeat, he eyed the Mayan appreciatively, then began turning away.

  Sakuna breathed with relief, taking another hurried step back, forgetting about the baskets. The high heap swayed, and she tried to catch her balance. When it fell and scattered around, she gasped and immediately wanted to strangle herself.

  Not sparing a glance to the laughing warriors, she dropped to her knees and began picking up her cargo, careful to turn her back toward them. But the tall warrior was already in front of her, peering at her, amazed.

  “The Chief Warlord’s wife?” he said, almost gaping. “It can’t be.”

  There was no point in trying to deny it. She straightened up with all the dignity she could muster.

  “Well, yes, I needed to buy something.” She met his gaze and added cheekily. “It’s good you showed up. My slaves seem to be scattered all over, and I would appreciate if you could spare some of your men to escort me home.”

  The man kept staring at her. “You don’t know what’s going on, do you?”

  She felt her heart missing a beat. “I’m sure my husband will take care of the Palace’s problems,” she said haughtily, amazed by her own cheek.

  “Oh yes, he seems to be taking care of the problems. But that was before we met you…” The contemplating gaze dwelled upon her, before the man turned to his warriors. “You two, get a litter, no matter where from. Just get it. Something with curtains.” He turned to her. “Please, lady. Let us escort you. You wouldn’t mind if we detour by the Palace, would you?”

  She looked at him hard. “I would prefer to go home,” she said coldly, marveling at the fact that her voice was still cool and aloof. Her heart made some wild leaps inside her chest. “I’m afraid my appearance is not nearly adequate for visiting the Palace.”

  He didn’t avert his gaze. “Oh lady, you would be welcomed in the Palace, trust me. Your appearances are always exceptional.”

  Her fingers caressed the smooth obsidian, still clutched inside her palm. The cool, glassy touch gave her strength to enter the litter that they hurriedly brought for her.

  Chapter 17

  Tecpatl peered through the terrace’s doors.

  Careful not to show himself, he peeked out for long enough to see the wide path twisting into the gardens, leading to the main gates, quiet and peaceful in the gentle light of the rising sun.

  He could hear the creaking of the wooden screen down the hall as the axes and clubs pounded on the weakening wood, amidst the agitated voices of his warriors – so painfully few! Yet, the peacefulness of the outside was more unsettling.

  Carefully, he stepped onto the terrace, ready to duck should his ears pick up a suspicious sound. Nothing! The rebels had obviously thrown everything they had into this upfront assault on the Emperor’s quarters.

  Most stupid of them! He would have placed enough archers and dart-throwers around the attacked parts of the building, to make the defenders keep clear of the openings. It would have helped to unbalance their spirits, even if the archers would not manage to pick many targets. However, their attackers were sloppy and unprepared. Good. But not good enough. Until his warriors arrived, he would have to hold on under an outright siege.

  Where were they? Why had it taken them so long?

  He scanned the twisting path once again, angry with the swaying trees of the gardens. If those would stop rustling, he might be able to pick out the sound of the arriving reinforcements. Amatl should have been more efficient. And Atolli… Had Atolli managed to find them?

  His heart twisted at the thought of his son, worried sick but proud, oh so very proud! He had been wrong about the boy all along, never knowing him well, making the mistake of thinking about this promising son as a replica of himself.

  Well, the youth was nothing like his father, but he was as good, probably even better, with this bubbling energy and those spontaneous, unexpected solutions, his vitality, his unpredictability. Had the opposition come to know him well? Had they tried to enlist him for his own merits and not only for being a son of the Chief Warlord?

  The volume of noise rose, and he rushed back toward the doors that were under assault, listening to the wooden screen as it cracked miserably. It wouldn’t hold for much longer.

  The warriors glanced at him and went back to watching the partitions, seeing the answer in his face. No reinforcements, not yet.

  He could hear the enemies doubling their efforts, anxious to break in, knowing they had no time.

  Setting the screen on fire would have helped, he thought randomly. Even if risking burning down the whole Palace. He would have done this if he were them.

  “I wish they would just get on with it,” murmured someone. “Why don’t we just open and fight?”

  “The Warlord wants to make them work, the filthy rats. Let them sweat and pant before we slice them into twenty little pieces each.” Some of the warriors chuckled, but humorlessly. They were so few and tired after the sleepless night. They were just the Emperor’s guards, not his elite warriors.

  “Such an annoying noise!” murmured an elderly man. “I wish it were still thundering. The night’s storm would make a nice diversion from this annoying pounding. I wish the lightning would strike them.”

  The lightning! A diversion!

  The thought hit him so suddenly, he gasped, startling the warriors, making them jump. He didn’t see any of it. A fire! A fire would create a great diversion, would make their attackers split their forces. Where? The other side of the building, of course. The enemy’s side.

  He glanced at them briefly. Risky to split such a small force, but what choice did he have?

  “Come,” he said curtly. “You, you, and you.” He picked the three freshest looking men. “The rest stay here, and if they break that screen, fight to the death. I don’t want to see any of you alive if they reach the Emperor.” He glared at them to drive the message home, then turned to the picked trio, “Come, quickly!”

  Passing the spacious rooms where the Emperor and his family, slaves and attendants were huddled together, anxious and afraid, he hurried toward the terrace. He should go in and reassure them, but there was no time.

  “Listen carefully,” he said once back upon the terrace. “We are going to climb over the railing and along the wall. There has to be enough ledges. If not, jump down and run around the building, then climb the opposite terrace. It is our destination. Do you understand me?”

  They nodded eagerly, welcoming the chance to busy themselves.

  “Once up on that opposite terrace, we set it on fire.”

  They stared at him, appalled.

  “With all the marble the Palace will not burn down, but it may keep them busy, allowing our reinforcements to arrive. Is that clear?” He examined their faces one by one, gaze piercing. “I want to hear you say that!”

  “Yes, Honorable Warlord.”

  “Good!”

  As he went over the railing, he thought again how stupid Xicohtli’s people were. To put not a single archer or slinger outside the attacked terrace? Those people were beyond contempt.

  ***

  Atolli was tired but kept his pace as they ran up the main road, a lethal brilliant-blue wave of clattering swords and rustling feathers.

  The market frequenters darted out of their wa
y, watching from a safe distance, fascinated and spellbound, as a crowd would watch a magnificent show of wild animals, a battle, a thunderstorm, something dangerous but enticing and beyond control.

  Elated, Atolli refused to fall behind, although Amatl tried to make him go home. The veteran of so many battles had had his doubts about the youth of fifteen, already famous for his insubordination and his time spent with the enemy – few things escaped Amatl’s sharp eye – yet this time he let himself be persuaded. After all, the Warlord’s son had proved his worth that morning. Cuatl, the giant warrior from the terrace who had accompanied the youth, testified as to the truthfulness of Atolli’s story.

  Most of the warriors had been already rallied when the two escapees of the siege reached them, bringing along the message from the Warlord himself. Those who were still not found – not every warrior spent his night snug at home – would have to catch up. And so, the fiercest force in the Empire had set out for the Palace, with everyone, groups of other warriors included, scattering out of their way.

  Having no sword, and, of course, no brilliant blue cloak, Atolli had had to put up with a simple club, heavy and cumbersome to carry along as he ran. He didn’t care. To be part of this elite group was such an honor he felt he would agree to fight naked and with his bare hands.

  Well, he was almost naked in his muddied, partly torn loincloth and nothing else. When he sneaked out to eavesdrop this morning, he didn’t plan on running around the city with the most exalted warriors on earth. But at least he managed to grab a pair of sandals from some market stall.

  “What are you smirking about, Jaguar Boy?” Cuatl’s elbow stuck into his ribs, but in a friendly fashion. The giant warrior was running along beside him, sweaty and panting, seeming to be as tired as he was, noticed Atolli with some satisfaction.

  “It’s nice outside. Good weather.”

  Cuatl chuckled and said nothing. After Atolli had managed to convince the Warlord to send them out, the formidable warrior seemed to thaw, watching Atolli with a genuine interest, listening to his suggestions, not itching to chop him into twenty little pieces anymore. Together they had sneaked through the royal forest behind the Palace’s gardens, climbing the low wall, then running to find Amatl, working in unison, respecting each other’s opinions. He was all right, this impressively giant Cuatl.

  “Oh gods, what a sight!”

  Atolli followed the glance of his companion. A group of warriors was trotting ahead, their progress cumbersome due to the closed palanquin that half of them carried.

  “This city has gone completely mad.” Cuatl laughed, showing a few missing teeth. “Warriors carrying a litter? What’s next?”

  “Next they’ll be sweeping this road,” chuckled Atolli. “Imagine that.”

  He watched the warriors with the litter changing their direction, darting away from their path.

  We should attack them, he thought suddenly. They are running away too guiltily, and who knows whom they are carrying in this litter. Maybe someone of importance.

  If not the direction they were heading prior to the encounter, he would assume they were carrying the Emperor’s fleeing brother.

  His stomach twisted. What would happen to Chictli?

  ***

  To reach the opposite terrace was not a task as easily achieved as Tecpatl had surmised, knowing Atolli had done this before. How, in the name of the Underworld, had the young rascal managed to advance along the slippery ledge with only a few bulging stones? They were forced to jump down shortly after leaving their terrace, getting all cut and scratched by the low bushes beneath the walls.

  To climb the terrace held by the enemy was even more difficult. Tecpatl hung onto the railing, gesturing to his followers to stay still, waiting for the voices up on the terrace to disappear, his other arm clutching the small pottery containing a burning coal, his mind numb with exhaustion.

  What sort of warfare was that? he asked himself. The Chief Warlord was not trained to hang under balconies, waiting to set the whole Palace on fire. Even when he was a young man, stuck in difficult situations with Sakuna’s people, it never got that bizarre.

  The voices faded, and he pulled himself up, falling over the railing ungracefully, cursing his inability to climb. Atolli must have inherited his catlike qualities from his mother. Cuatl was right; the boy was a jaguar all right.

  The thought about Sakuna made his stomach shrink. Later, he promised himself. He’d make things right with her later.

  Sword out and ready, he slipped toward the opening. The hall looked quiet and seemingly abandoned. The enemy really was throwing all they had into the attempt to break their defenses. After setting this place on fire, he could try to surprise them from behind. Would the three warriors he brought along be enough? Of course not, but it was worth a try.

  He could hear his warriors climbing heavily, as awkwardly as he did. He gestured them to keep quiet, then studied the floor concealed under the abundance of mats. Perfect. He picked the nearest mat and carried it outside.

  “Bring more,” he whispered. “Spread them across the floor.”

  In no time, the terrace looked like a military camp. He took out his coal and puffed on it, trying to make it come to life.

  Shouts erupted, and he could hear footsteps running. Something smashed against his back, sending him sprawling. The coal burned his palm as he clutched it, rolling over to avoid the attack. Yet, nothing followed. His men were fighting inside, but the terrace was still empty. A flat stone lay beside him. He tucked the coal into the straw of the nearest mat and sprang to his feet, thanking the gods that the stone had missed his head.

  Inside the room, a fight was progressing. Four warriors, wild eyed and surprised. Hacking at one of them, Tecpatl made the man retreat a step. He pressed the attack, wishing to finish this encounter fast, still hoping to achieve the surprise of attacking their enemies from behind.

  The warrior retreated another pace, then turned and ran. There was no point in chasing him. The surprise was spoiled.

  “Finish them off and hurry out,” he shouted to his man and rushed back onto the terrace to take care of the coal.

  It was not necessary. The smoke was rising already, choking in its thickness, tongues of flame consuming the dry straw hungrily. He darted back inside and chopped at the first warrior he saw, not caring to observe the accepted rules of never interrupting hand-to-hand.

  “Hurry up,” he yelled. “Out, out now!”

  They followed obediently, hopping between the billowing flames. He thought about the lined walls of the second floor. The polished wood would catch fire readily. Was he correct in resorting to such methods? This time, they went over the railing with no reservations.

  People were screaming above, but Tecpatl’s ears picked out another sound as he rolled down the slope, breaking more bushes in his fall. An unmistakable sound of a battle ensuing. Somewhere around the corner, maybe near the main entrance, people were killing each other; there could be no mistake about that.

  Not bothering with the possibility of arrows, he ran, his sword ready, his heart beating fast. Those must have been his warriors. Who else would give a great enough fight to be heard at such distances?

  Sure enough, the river of blue was streaming up the wide stairs, their opposition crumbling, the shower of arrows and darts weakening with every stair taken.

  He joined them amidst the wild cheering, unable to suppress his joy, his elation at seeing them, of being in his element again, of returning back to control the events.

  “Come on!” he yelled, leaping up the slippery stairs. “Let us not allow even one dirty manure-eater to get away.”

  They cheered wildly and now, standing above them, he could make out an odd spot in the river of blue. Atolli, disheveled, muddied and scratched, almost naked in his torn loincloth, was weaving a club, looking happy and perfectly barbarian.

  ***

  She clutched onto the planks of the litter, trying not to slip out. It jerked unmercifully, toss
ing from side to side. The warriors were no litter bearers, that much was obvious.

  At one point they changed their direction so sharply, she smashed her cheek against the wooden partition. But she made a point not to complain. She clenched her teeth and swallowed the gasp that was about to burst out. She would give them no such satisfaction. If she was going to die, which was most probably going to happen, she’d go with honor and no whining or pleading. Tecpatl would be proud of her.

  The litter tilted, and she knew they were ascending the road leading to the Palace. In the dim light behind the curtains she studied the small dagger Eek had thrust into her palm. It was short and thin, and it settled into her palm, fitting perfectly as if made especially for her. Living with a leading warrior, she had seen so many different kinds of weapons, but never something like that. Tiny and vicious, it fit into a small palm like hers. It was woman’s dagger, she realized. Apparently, their women also had weapons.

  The litter turned sharply, then again. Strange. She peered through the light material. The silhouette of the Great Pyramid was nowhere to be seen. They must have been somewhere behind the Palace. Why?

  The tilt increased, and she had to clutch onto the wooden screen to keep from falling back. A few turns, then the litter was dumped upon the ground, quite carelessly at that.

  She fought the urge to leap out. Clenching her palms tight, she forced herself to sit still, listening to the people running about, talking in hurriedly hushed voices.

  “What’s new?”

  “Not much.”

  “Have they broken in yet?”

  “Almost.”

  The curtain moved aside. “Would you please step out?”

  She looked hard at her capturer. “Do I have a choice?”

  The man frowned. “There is no need to be angry, lady.”