Obsidian & Blood (103 page)

  Gods, more politics. I really didn't want to have to deal with this. 

  But, in the end, it didn't change much. It was my duty – the one the previous Guardian had given me over my protestations – what I had always done, what I always do. Keep the boundaries, protect the Fifth World and the Mexica Empire – what kind of a man would I be, if I let the epidemic rage within the city?

  We had to find out how it had started – what the spell was – in order to counter it.

  I stared at the stars – the distant, reassuring patterns fixed in their courses, the demons that couldn't fall into the Fifth World anymore – until they seemed to become the only thing in the world. 

  A tinkle of bells, and my sister came to stand by my side. "Obstinate man," she said. 

  "Did he believe you?"

  "For now, I guess." She looked tired. "We'll go back and cast one of the lesser spells of protection. It won't work as well–" 

  "–but it will buy us a little more time?"

  She nodded. "Acamapichtli said he'd look into the precise nature of the sickness, which should help us guard against it. But you–"

  I spread my hands. "I know, I know. I need to find out who is behind this, and how they're doing it."

  Mihmatini grimaced. "It might still be someone with a grudge against Eptli – they might be plucking two limes in one swoop: causing the disease, and getting back at him."

  I bit my lip. "It might. But Ezamahual was right: it might simply be that he was a successful warrior, part of Tizoc-tzin's successes." 

  "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't discount the possibility out of hand." I must have looked dubious, for she laughed, and made as if to punch me. "Don't be so serious, Acatl!" 

  "This is serious."

  "Oh, Acatl, for the gods' sake. We've already had this talk. Better laugh, and smile at the flowers and jade. Life is too short to be spent grieving. You, of all people, should know this."

  I shook my head. It wasn't about enjoying life, but rather about my responsibilities, and what I needed to do.

  And needed to do fast. For, if the primary motive wasn't Eptli's death, but the epidemic – if someone wanted deaths, many deaths, then what prevented them from directly contaminating someone else? It could all go fast – very fast – with us defenceless against it.

 

Though the evening was well-advanced, I headed straight to Teomitl's quarters hoping to catch my wayward student before he went to bed, and apprise him of events. If there was something going on against his brother and the empire he was heir to, I felt he ought to know sooner rather than later.

  And I wanted to see him, too: with the campaign, he'd been absent for four months, and I couldn't help but feel he was drawing away from me – a thought that pinched my heart. He'd grown up immeasurably since becoming my student, but he wasn't an adult yet – too impulsive, too careless to take his place as Revered Speaker. 

  His quarters were on the ground floor near Tizoc-tzin's own private quarters: his elevation to Master of the House of Darts had, it seemed, changed little. The entrance-curtain fluttering in the evening's balmy breeze had gone from orange to red and white with a huge butterfly – the colour and pattern reserved for warriors who had captured three or more enemies.

  "Teomitl?" I pushed open the entrance-curtain – the bells sewn into it tinkled, a familiar, high-pitched sound – and stepped inside. 

  The room was as bare as it had always been, the only concession to wealth being the frescoes representing our ancestors in Aztlan, the mythical heartland of Huitzilpochtli the Southern Hummingbird.

  I'd expected to catch Teomitl; what I hadn't expected was to find him with someone else.

  "Acatl," the visitor said, rising. "What a pleasant surprise."

  I found myself wishing I'd removed my sandals, after all. "My Lord," I said, bowing as low as I could.

  Nezahual-tzin, Revered Speaker of our ally Texcoco, was a youth of barely sixteen years of age, with a smooth face that could have belonged to a child. The easy, graceful way he wore his feather re galia and turquoise cape, however, served as a useful reminder: Nezahual-tzin was a canny player of politics, who had grown up fighting for his Turquoise and Gold Crown, and he was blessed with the wisdom of Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent. A dangerous opponent, should he ever set himself against us…

  A horrible thought crossed my mind. What if he was the one behind it all? The gods knew he didn't like Tizoc-tzin; the man had all but accused Nezahual-tzin of wanting to break the Triple Alliance, four months past. And Nezahual-tzin certainly had the knowledge and the craft to make any spell he wished to – even one calling on the power of Tlalocan, though Tlaloc wasn't his preferred god to call upon. 

  But no; he was a smart and canny man, and, like me, he had seen the heavy cost we had paid during the change of Revered Speaker. He might have disliked Tizoc-tzin, but he had helped us crown him all the same. No, it couldn't possibly be him. 

  Teomitl wouldn't meet my gaze. "Nezahual-tzin came to inquire about the dead warrior. We were planning to look for you."

  Eventually, I guessed. No – I looked at Teomitl again, seeing the impatience ill-hidden on his features. Those two still had no love for each other, and I guessed Teomitl had been trying to get rid of the unwanted guest for a while.

  "I didn't know you had the best interests of warriors at heart," I said to Nezahual-tzin.

  He smiled, uncovering teeth of a dazzling white. "Warriors, no. Magical epidemics, most probably."
  "I see," I said. "You weren't with the army."

  "No." Nezahual shook his head, briefly. "The coronation war is Tizoc-tzin's only. The Triple Alliance won't interfere when he proves his valour." He sounded vaguely amused: he had no illusions about Tizoc-tzin's valour.

  "Don't mock my brother," Teomitl said. "I haven't seen you much on the battlefield, either."

  Nezahual-tzin rolled his eyes upwards. "To each their own." I'd expected him to elaborate, but he didn't.

  I looked at Teomitl, who was fidgeting. "I need to talk with Teomitl. Alone."
  Teomitl nodded. Yes. There is plenty to do."

  I could see that he wanted to remove Nezahual-tzin from his presence – and Nezahual-tzin saw it as well, because a slightly mocking smile was playing on his broad features.

  I didn't know how much I could trust him with any of the details on the epidemic, and in any case, it was better to be prudent. I took the first excuse that came to mind. "If you'll excuse us," I said to Nezahual-tzin. "We have to look for a woman."

  "Women tend to be elusive," Nezahual-tzin said, gravely. I remembered, too late, that he might be sixteen years old, and have the wisdom and grace of someone far older, but he didn't disdain the pleasures of the flesh, and his women's quarters already held dozens of concubines.

  Teomitl glared at Nezahual-tzin. "You don't know what you're talking about."

  His desire to oust Nezahual-tzin from his quarters was palpable, and at length Nezahual-tzin nodded. "I see," he said in a swish of feathers. "I will leave you to your affairs while I attend to mine." 

  I waited until he had left to look at Teomitl. "We have a problem," I said.

  "A problem?"

  Quickly, I outlined what Mihmatini had told me. Teomitl's face did not change during the recitation, save that it went paler and paler – and that a green light, like jade, like underwater algae, started playing on his features. "Deliberate?" 

  "Insofar as I know, yes."

  "Then who?" The room was bathed in green shadows now; if the culprit had been there, he would have been blasted straight into Mictlan.
  "I don't know."

  Teomitl grimaced. He looked disappointed – an expression which sent an odd pang through my chest, making me wish I'd been capable of removing it – but he soon rallied. "So we're looking for enemies of the Mexica?"

  I shook my head. "Not only that. Enemies of your brother, quite possibly. Remember last year. Someone could well be a Mexica and love the Empire, and yet still want to depose Tizoc-tzin for personal gain."

  Teomitl snorted. "You don't remove a Revered Speaker. You kill him." I'd expected him to be outraged, or angry; but he was merely stating a fact all too well-known to him, as if he'd already brooded over this many times. 

  "Teomitl–" I said, suddenly frightened.

  He grinned – careless, boyish again. "Don't worry about me, Acatl-tzin. I'm not a fool. But the fact remains: what does our sorcerer hope to gain with this?"

  "Weaken us," I said, darkly. "Perhaps even encourage a civil war." We'd always stood united, but then again, all our Revered Speakers had had the favour of the Southern Hummingbird – their coronation wars a success, bodies piling at the foot of the Great Temple until the steps ran slick with blood.

  Teomitl's face darkened – and, for a moment, he looked far too much like his brother. "You go too far."

  I shook my head, ignoring the faint stirrings of unease. "You've seen the banquet. We are divided. With enough panic, and enough fear… the gods only know what a sorcerer can achieve." 

  And there was Tizoc-tzin – who had been dead, and who we had brought back to life. What kind of magical protection could a dead man afford us?

  Teomitl said nothing.

  "You must know the court. You must see the atmosphere."

  His hands were steady – almost too much – his face carefully guileless. "I can look," he said, finally. "Does that mean we stop enquiring about Eptli's enemies?"

  I thought of what Mihmatini had told me. "Not necessarily. Whoever the culprit is, they must have hated Eptli – or what he represented."

  Teomitl grimaced. "I did have some information, but…" 

  "What information?"

  "The head of prisoners sent word," Teomitl said. "He said that a woman dressed like a sacred courtesan walked into their quarters, not long before the uproar of Eptli's death. She all but barged her way into Zoquitl's quarters, and they had a lengthy conversation." 

  A courtesan? "You don't know which kind?"

  "Fairly high-up in their hierarchy, I should imagine, from what Cuixtli said. Why?"
  "Xochiquetzal," I said, curtly.
  "Oh."

  Xochiquetzal, Goddess of Lust and Childbirth, had until recently been a resident of Tenochtitlan, granted asylum by the grace of the Duality – and of the previous Guardian, Ceyaxochitl. However, in the wake of Tizoc-tzin's ascent to power, She had been exiled from the city, partly in retaliation for her plot against the Southern Hummingbird a year before, and partly because Tizoc-tzin's paranoia wouldn't allow a scheming goddess to be within a stone's throw of him. 

  I hadn't approved. Like all gods – except Lord Death and the Feathered Serpent, who took no part in the intrigues of the Fifth World – Xochiquetzal was ruthless, and always plotting something. But risking Her anger and resentment wasn't wise.

  "Does he know who she was?"

  "He didn't remember her name. He thought it was something to do with flowers–" which didn't help, since half the women's names included precious stones or flowers "and something else. Some kind of food – amaranth, maize?"

  "I don't see–" I started, but the tinkle of the bells on the entrancecurtain cut me short.

  "Xiloxoch," Nezahual-tzin said, not even bothering with an apology or an introduction. "xoch" was for flower; and "xiloch" was tender maize.

  "You were spying on us?" Teomitl asked, indignantly. "You–" He stopped himself with an effort, remembering that he spoke to a superior and an ally. "That's not honourable."

  "Honour will see us all dead," Nezahual-tzin said, with that particular, distant serenity that was his hallmark. "Let's be practical." 

  "How much did you hear?" I asked.

  He didn't answer, but by his mocking glance, I could guess he had been outside all the while, listening.

  "Don't you dare make this public," I said. I could have asked him not to act on it, but it would have been in vain.

  Nezahual-tzin snorted. "Secrets are of value. Why would I reveal something like that?"

  "For your own gain," Teomitl snapped.

  "Of course I wouldn't." He smiled, with practised innocence – not that we were fooled.
  "You'd better not."

  I decided to interpose myself, before the conversation degenerated: those two would come to blows easily enough, and it wouldn't help the stability of the Triple Alliance if the heir-apparent to the Mexica Empire and the Revered Speaker of Texcoco fought among themselves. "You said the courtesan's name was Xiloxoch. How do you know, Nezahual-tzin?" And realised, too late, that there was only one possible answer to the question.

  A faint, sarcastic smile appeared on Nezahual-tzin's lips for a bare moment, before his face was once more smooth and expressionless. "You know how I know," he said, curtly. "She's a delightful woman, Xiloxoch. Not as young as she used to be, but a treasure-trove of inventions. A pleasure to be with. Almost makes staying in Tenochtitlan worthwhile."

  Teomitl's face went crimson. I was less fazed than him – both because I'd expected something like that, and because what women did in the privacy of their chambers had long since ceased to matter for me. "I don't think your prowess as a man is the question here." 

  Nezahual-tzin's eyes rolled up, revealing corneas of opalescent white. "Of course. You don't feel concerned."

  Less than Teomitl, obviously. Ah – might as well question him, and find out what he knew. "As I said earlier, let's focus. What do you know about Xiloxoch that would be relevant?" I stressed the word "relevant."

  For a moment, I thought Nezahual-tzin was going to launch into a recitation of Xiloxoch's virtues on the reed-mat – but he must have perceived the shadows of jade playing on Teomitl's face, a sure sign that my student was losing hold of his divine powers. "You forget. I have no idea what you want with her."