Bride of Thunder (52 page)

“Your major would have to find a good chance to prove Pacal's an Englishman,” Mercy said. “But if he did this, it might save both Cruzob and
ladinos
tremendous suffering.” She put a comforting arm around the frightened young woman. “I'll unmask Pacal if I can. In case I fail, I wanted someone else to know.”

“I owe more than my life to you,
señora;
I owe Juanito's. If necessary, I'll tell my major.” She caught Mercy's hand. “What will happen to you if you're not believed?”

“What will probably happen, anyhow.” Mercy shrugged. “The priestess hates me. Unless the Englishman wants me, I'm sure she'll find a way to kill me.”

“If only your
batab
were here!”

“I'm afraid he'd only lose his life. But when he does come, tell him. He was a bond-servant on Kensington's estate, and he knows him well.”

Mercy froze. It could be fatal for Dionisio, unprepared, to meet Eric, who was bound to learn how Mercy had been brought to Chan Santa Cruz. Even if Eric didn't crave Dionisio's life for his closeness to Mercy, he'd remove him as a person who might guess the truth about the face behind that eagle mask.

“I must ask you another favor,” Mercy pleaded. “Warn the
batab
about the Englishman before they can meet. Otherwise, Eric might kill him before Dionisio grasped what was going on.”

Now it was the woman's turn to comfort Mercy with an embrace. “Don't worry about that, at least,
señora
. I'll get word to your
batab
. But please, don't risk yourself till you have to!”

Unwilling to distress the young woman further, Mercy didn't say that she was already risked. Xia knew her; so did Eric. Instead, she thanked the woman and sent her away.

Considerably relieved that Pacal's secret would be known where it might destroy his scheming, Mercy slowly ate the spiced meat and delicately flavored tamales. She could hear the band in the plaza and the soft, distant rumble of singing voices, swelling as night descended and more and more villagers streamed into the shrine city.

When would the Talking Cross speak?

From dreading a summons, Mercy began to wish for it as minutes dragged into hours and the night wore on.
Let it happen!
her tortured mind told her as she paced from door to door and stepped outside always to see the dim figure of the Buddha spy watching from where he could see both entrances.
Whatever will be, let it be! Just so it comes quickly while I'm still in command of myself!

At last, wearied, thinking perhaps plans had changed, she lay down in the hammock and dozed fitfully. She dreamed Pacal was tearing her apart with his eagle beak when a voice reached through her terror.

“
Señora!
” It was the Buddha spy. “You will come now to the church. At midnight the cross will speak.”

Icily awake in a second, Mercy put on her sandals, tidied her hair, and slipped the shawl around her, though it could no longer act as a disguise. It made her feel a little less exposed, though.

Would she be coming back? Was her life to end in this Cruzob city, severed by causes she'd never heard of a year ago? Would Zane ever know what had happened to her? And what would become of him and of everyone at La Quinta, on the frontier, and in Yucatán?

She touched his black coral necklace, tried to find strength in their love, and followed her guard.

Torches burned here and there along the plaza, flickering light and shadow on the Mayas thronging the plaza. Passing through the praying, singing crowd, Mercy was brought through an completely darkened church, also massed with worshippers, made to stand in a clear space that she supposed must be near the altar.

Was this the time? Should she shout out that Pacal was a fraud? How far would she get, and would anyone believe, before she was hushed? Mercy was keying herself up to seize the first pause in the chanting when a soft hand gripped her shoulder and a fine dust was thrown into her face. It entered her lungs in a gasp, and when she tried to cry out a hand closed her mouth.

More dust filled her nostrils. Suddenly she was floating, light and free. Nothing mattered, especially not whatever she'd wanted to say. The only truth, the only reality, was this pure high drifting. In a moment she'd be part of it, merged completely, entirely at rest. The blackness was bright, dazzling, colors she'd never seen, colors to hear and smell, the taste of the rainbow filled her mouth, penetrated, became her.

She scarcely knew when the singing stopped, but she felt the silence, reverberating with a sound like thunder rumbling from a long way off.

There was a trilling, piercing whistle, silence that made the darkness a thick, living, palpable thing, and then a voice spoke from the middle of the air.

“I welcome my son Pacal, who kneels to me, as is fitting. He worships me. His heart is no longer heathen. But the old powers are still strong, so I send them a present, a gift to obtain their blessing as you, my children, march on the
dzuls
. I command that the white captive known as Mercy be thrown into the
cenote,
where the Lord Pacal awaited my invitation, and where the
yuntzilob
told him they required this woman.”

This woman? One layer of her mind knew what was happening. It didn't matter. But because there was something, deep, almost forgotten, that didn't matter, she tried to speak. Her mouth wouldn't open. Her tongue couldn't move.

There was more dust in her face. The colors exploded, and she sank into them.

22

The colors were still before her eyes when she opened them, and they throbbed in and out of her brain. Her mouth was dry. She was a husk, a paper-thin shell, with only the colors real. But there was a voice, calling a name. Her name?

Sighing, Mercy looked through the spinning, dancing colors to a face, smiling, evil. “Stand up. Those rags won't do for a gift to the gods, though neither, certainly, are they getting a virgin!”

Xia's silken tones brought Mercy back to herself, to what was happening, though haziness fogged her mind. She could remember the aromatic dust in her nostrils, the shrill voice of the Talking Cross, and vibrating, sensuous colors.

Nothing more. Nothing till now. She lay in a hammock, watching Xia, whose slanting eyebrows rose higher. “Don't sham.
Yoyotli
's effects don't last this long.”

“That's what you threw in my face?”

Xia nodded. “Its use is what has always made sacrificial victims so complacent, why they seldom struggle against the knife.” Her laughter tinkled. “I thought you
might
struggle, shout what you knew about Pacal, so I decided to make sure there were no unruly outbursts. Now, stand up and be dressed, or I'll drug you again.”

The
yoyotli
could make her go without caring to her death. Resolved to stay aware, snatch at any opportunity, Mercy got out of the hammock. They were in a large room, bare except for hammocks and a few chests. There were guards at the door, through which Mercy glimpsed an arcade and supposed they were in the
tatich
's palace.

She felt slightly betrayed that Novelo, with whom she had spent many hours and whose liking she could sense, would drown her at Xia's behest, but he wouldn't be
tatich
if he shied at a little murder. He couldn't be faulted, as a leader, for choosing Pacal's bold miracle of holy war to Mercy's quiet one of healing.

Two women, at Xia's orders, disrobed Mercy and anointed her with sweet-scented oil. “We have no fitting garments for a bride of the gods,” said Xia. “But this girdle of serpent skins will cover your loins, and the
tatich
has let me pick out jewelry from his plundered treasures. It's a shame to waste it on a corpse, but we must make a good show; otherwise, the people might wonder why the powers wanted
you
.”

Through the window Mercy watched the hinting of dawn as Xia decked her with necklaces of jade, abalone, coral, and shell. A feather-and-bead collar stopped just above Mercy's nipples, which Xia stained crimson, ignoring Mercy's protests.

“We must give people something to look at! By all gods, it's difficult—you're scrawny as a reed!” Her nails dug in savagely. “How Zane could want you is a riddle! Perhaps you are a witch!”

“Why are you helping Eric Kensington? Don't you care that such a revolt will be put down? Do you want La Quinta destroyed?”

Xia's smile sweetened even more. “La Quinta will be part of my reward. Zane, if he lives, can be my mayordomo if he serves me well—in all ways.”

“Don't you care at all that you'll cause the deaths of thousands of your own people?”

Xia lifted and dropped one slim shoulder. “Those people took my only child from me so they could have their savior! I wept and cried and pleaded, but he went on the cross, anyway! My little boy! When I thought he was dying, it was as if the human heart left my breast and one of jade was left there. I learned then that all that counts is power.”

“So you'll condemn many mothers to weeping? Sacrifice men by the hundreds?”

“I will be priestess of Pacal, the most important woman in Yucatán. Then I can have my son with me without fearing for his life or my own!”

“But,” said Mercy slowly, “will he want to be with you?”

Xia was small, but a blow with the full force of her body behind it made Mercy stagger. “He'll be a
cacique
greater than Jacinto Pat or anyone since the Spaniards! Even if Mérida and Campeche don't fall, we'll hold all the country outside.”

“Till armies come from Mexico.”

“We've defeated them before. We will again.”

“This time they won't be called to the mainland to fight for or against an emperor, the United States, or Texas. Those wars are over. After what's happened to Maximilian, it'll be a long time before any European power interferes with the Mexican government, which will now have a chance to put its house in order—and part of its house is Yucatán.”

“A part that keeps detaching itself,” reminded Xia, “even without the Mayas.”

“It'll be different now. Since independence, Mexico's been fighting other powers. But now its borders are settled with the United States, Europe's backed off, and the next years are bound to see a knitting together of the country and subjection of rebellious parts.”

“I don't believe you!”

“Don't.”

Xia's full lips curved. “It's a pity you won't know if your croakings come true. I'm surprised that Kensington agreed to your death, but apparently this escapade with the handsome
batab
quenched even his itch for you. He didn't want to attend the ceremony, however. You're to enter the
cenote
when the first ray of sun strikes it.”

Xia shone with power and her full lips curved. “Don't you remember water, Mercy?”

“Why?”

“The body remembers the way it died,” Xia said dreamily. “It thrills and dances in the presence of the element that caused it to disintegrate before. I remember fire. My flesh tingles, wants to spin into particles. I shall die in fire. But you, Mercy, doesn't your body sense its doom? Come now.”

Maybe there'd be a chance at the moment before sacrifice, when all eyes were on her, to shout out the truth about Pacal, tear off his mask and headdress. It would be hard for the wildest fanatic to believe such a fair haired man was Mayan. Mercy took a deep breath and moved for the door.

As she passed Xia, the priestess' hand came up. Fine powder burned Mercy's eyes and nostrils.
Yoyotli!
She tried to cough it out, but a second casting filled her spasming lungs.

And she was … floating.

Leaves were edged with diamonds and gold, flowers expanded and contracted, and brilliant petals reshaped themselves to dance like living things. They
were
alive. The stamens pulsed, showering sun dust, and stems swayed languorously. Grass was jade and emerald, the red bark of the
indio desnudo
tree glowed in points of rosy flame, even rocks dissolved, laughing, into millions of spinning, whirling particles, freed to mingle with heaven-blue of morning glories, ruby chalices of frangipani, dragon heads of orchids, trailing plumes of air plants.

Mercy flowed with the colors, entered and was with them, now a purle iridescent feather of a jay, now a yellow bloom of the cotton tree, or tendril of a vine. She felt sorry for the people, hundreds of them, following the body that was her temporary covering. These women, children, and soldiers couldn't see the colors. They were too heavy to float.

Curiously, Mercy examined the people nearest her. The woman's head became that of a beautiful undulating snake patterned with jewels. The fat man in the lead was really an immense bull frog, and the men with him were toads and lizards, ridiculously garmented in men's attire. The eagle-masked man wasn't there, and she wondered how he would have looked with his feathers charged with the light and splendor now touching everything. Here and there a child flamed, or a baby burst into flower. A woman incandesced, and then a young warrior.

The shallow cave before them reflected water sparkles on its glistening walls from a luminous oval pool that lay partly within, partly outside the cave. Rainbows shimmered above, around and deep inside the quicksilver surface.

So beautiful.

But there was something … something! The memory trying to pierce through the gossamer webs hazing her mind couldn't do more than make itself felt as a vague disquieting, a wondering. It had seemed so important. Before she saw the colors. Before she could float.

The toad men fastened a carved rock to her legs, a rock that didn't fly into fragments and dance, a rock that was heavy, dragging at her legs in the instant before she was lifted. The serpent woman cried out words, her adder's tongue darting back and forth, and the toad men let go of Mercy's arms.

The water exploded with sun as she fell into it.