Obsidian & Blood (71 page)

 

  Teomitl set the pulque jar by the altar, whispering a prayer. Carefully he reached over to Mihmatini, and helped her into the altar. Then, still as tentatively as if every gesture would break a fragile balance, he reached out, and tied a knot between his cloak and her blouse. The sun outlined its contours, sloshed into the folds of the cloths; the knot seemed to sparkle as if studded with gold or jewels.

  He paused for a while, staring at her, and it didn't seem a ritual anymore, just part of their relationship, something I had no right to intrude on. I averted my gaze, staring at the floor. Dots of lights were running along the marble, joining together to form larger stains, like blood pooling in the hollows of an altar.

 

 

  I couldn't tell how long I stood there looking down, at stone that gradually became translucent, as if some inner light were springing to life underneath. The air was charged, heavy as before a storm, and yet it was as light and as pure as that of a winter day, smelling of cut grass and algae, and of scattered marigolds.

  When I raised my eyes they were kissing, and the sun seemed to have descended into the Fifth World. The white light bathed them, outlining the shape of their clothes, their two faces, like images in some distorted mirror, the knot, into which radiance pooled like water from streams, two bodies, pressing more tightly against each other. The stains of light contracted and shuddered and, in one sweeping movement, converged on Mihmatini and Teomitl, washing away their features until all I could see were two darker silhouettes, like shadows on limestone.

  Light arced from the altar into the heavens, spreading upwards, the opening of a huge flower, petal after iridescent petal shimmering into existence above us. The flower stretched, lost its shape, and the light died.

  When my eyes had accustomed themselves again to the dimmer light I saw, against the Heavens, the glowing shape of a dome, and felt a faint pressure at the back of my mind, like a reminder of its weight. The stars shone in the sky, but they were only pinpoints of light, and the air still smelled fresh, like the marshes after the rain, like the first flowering of maize.

  Teomitl and Mihmatini sat on the altar, pale and drained, their skin an unhealthy white. Mihmatini had closed her eyes; Teomitl sat as straight as usual, but his quivering muscles betrayed him. The two priests had taken a step back. Their faces were mostly dignified, but not without smugness.

  I approached the altar, the marble warm under my sandals, the stone beating triumphantly, like a living heart.

  Safe. We were safe for a few more days, if nothing more. The word beat in my chest, wove itself in my brain, over and over; a litany, a prayer.
  "Can you stand?" the priestess asked.

  Teomitl gently teased the knot open. Light spilled from the folds of the joined cloths, like a scattering of gemstones into a sunlit stream. He pulled himself up, one articulation at a time, with none of his usual speed. He winced as his feet touched the floor. "Mostly," he said. His face shifted from brown to the green of jade, and back to brown again. He couldn't quite control Jade Skirt's gift. He seemed to realise this, and shook his head in annoyance. "I've never had so much taken from me."

  "It's because you've never asked for so much power." Mihmatini had not moved; she still sat on the altar, her hair unbound like that of a sacred courtesan, the red around her mouth smudged like the maw of a fed jaguar.

  "Did it work?" she asked. Light still clung to her, a stubborn radiance that coated her skin and reflected itself into her eyes. 

  She frightened me more than I could put in words. 

  "Yes," the priest said. "Wonderfully."

  "Thank the gods." Her voice was low, carefully pausing between words, as if unsure of the right one. Her hands shook. "If I'd gone through this for nothing, there would have been words, Acatl." 

  "I can imagine." The dome overhead pressed down on my mind, the words merging with each other in my thoughts. Safe, safe, safe. 

  I wondered why I couldn't feel any happiness over it.

  "Come on," I said, ignoring the tightness in my chest. "Let's get you cleaned up."

  By the time they'd dressed in everyday attire again, I'd seen that the light around Mihmatini did not diminish in intensity. It remained around her body, and a thinner thread linked her and Teomitl, like a reverse shadow on the ground, beating ponderously like a man breathing in his sleep.

  A remnant of the Duality's touch, marking their new Guardian. As if we didn't have enough problems already.

  They were waiting for us at the entrance to the Duality House, a group of warriors in Jaguar Knight livery; exquisite, from the jade rings on their fingers to their turquoise lip-plugs, their
macuahitl
swords casually hefted in their hands.

  "Acatl-tzin," the burliest said. "Teomitl-tzin. Tizoc-tzin will see you now."

  Their angry, resentful tone left little doubt as to what Tizoc-tzin would want to tell us.

 

 

Tizoc-tzin's quarters were, surprisingly, almost deserted, compared to what I had seen last time. A handful of richly-attired warriors lounged on the platform outside, and the inner chambers held only the remnants of a feast, the smell of rich food turning sour in the gold and silver vessels.

  It smelled of neglect, and of fear, like the house of an old man facing Lord Death at the end of a long sickness. I half-expected to find a corpse somewhere; but the only occupant of the room was Tizoc-tzin, still sitting behind his polished screen.

  He looked furious, his face pale and set, his hands clenched around a feather-fan as if he could grind it into dust.

  "They haven't bared their feet," he snapped to the warriors behind us.

  "My Lord–" The lead warrior sounded embarrassed, and perhaps a little contemptuous. I couldn't be sure.

  "You're not Revered Speaker." Teomitl's voice held the edge of broken obsidian.

  Tizoc-tzin's gaze moved to him. His eyes were deep-set in the paleness of his face, as dark and as bruised as those of a corpse. "And you're not Master of the House of Darts." His tone implied Teomitl would never be so, not as long as he had a voice. 

  Teomitl shrugged. "That's your threat?"

  Tizoc-tzin smiled, uncovering a row of blackened teeth. "I can think of others. For now, I'll settle for explanations." He jerked his chin at me, in a movement so convulsive and unnatural that I took a step backward. "Try voicing them,
priest
." The contempt in his voice could have frozen Lake Texcoco.

  I took a deep breath, composing myself. Tizoc-tzin was right. Teomitl wasn't Master of the House of Darts, Keeper of the Bowl of Fatigue, or Cutter of Men – he had no title, no official recognition save for his imperial blood, and the Revered Speaker had had dozens of brothers who had not amounted to anything. He couldn't defend us. No one could.

  "There was need." I pitched my voice as low as I could, grave and determined. "The stars are shining in the sky, my Lord, and the demons walk in daylight, in the Jaguar House. They'd have overwhelmed us. We needed…" I tasted bile in my throat, swallowed. "We needed the protection of the Duality."

  Where was Quenami? As High Priest of the Southern Hummingbird, he would have understood, at least, though he might still have disavowed me if it suited him. 

  "And so you thought of a ritual? How clever." 

  "The Duality takes no human sacrifices."

  "Of course They don't." Tizoc-tzin moved back, so that his face was wreathed in shadows. "I've warned you before. I've warned you about her."

  I guessed more than saw Teomitl put a hand on Mihmatini's shoulder, preventing her from speaking out. In the dimness of Tizoc-tzin's rooms, she still shone with the light of the ritual, and the thin, radiant thread curled on the ground between them, visible to all. 

  "Well, priest?"

  I could think of no answer that wouldn't be an insult. "You did warn me," I said, cautiously. "But the ritual required both of them." I didn't tell him what else we'd done, it would take a while to fully invest Mihmatini as agent of the Duality, and the later he found out about this the better off we'd be.

  "You lie!" The feather-fan trembled in Tizoc-tzin's hands. "I've seen you, priest. I know what you are, you and your kind – always hungry for power, always grabbing for more. Linking them to gether, parading them both in this palace, like a warrior and his courtesan, you spoiled him, too, took his potential and wasted it and turned it against this Court…" He was almost weeping now, the words tumbling atop each other, as fast and chaotic as waves on a stormy lake.

  Teomitl's face twisted; the light of his patron goddess Chalchiuhtlicue, which had been surrounding him, died away. "I'm not against you, brother."

  Tizoc-tzin raised his gaze to look at him, and I had never seen anything so frightening as the hunger spread on his features, hollowing his cheeks and his neck, pushing the eyes further back into his dark sockets. "I am the one," he whispered. "The one Axayacatl promised the Empire to. Fit to rule, to bring us the spoils of war and the tributes of provinces. He promised me. You know this. You know I'll do the right things."

  "I'm not against you," Teomitl repeated. "I never was." His eyes glimmered in the dim light. It was Mihmatini, now, who had a hand extended, wrapped around his shoulder. "Brother…" 

  I had never seen him weep before.

  Tizoc-tzin held Teomitl's gaze for a long while. He breathed in frantically, as if air had gone missing. At last he appeared to compose himself, and said in a much cooler voice, "Of course. Blood stands by blood." 

  "Always," Teomitl said.

  I didn't like the sudden coolness, or the way his gaze moved around the room, transfixing all of us. We had seen him lose face and heart, reduced to an incoherent, weeping wreck of a man. Knowing him, he would never forgive us. Teomitl was family, but Mihmatini and I…

  I could tell by Mihmatini's taut pose that her thoughts ran close to mine.

  "Then set her aside." Tizoc-tzin's gaze was malicious. Mihmatini's hand tightened around Teomitl's shoulder, hard enough to bruise. 

  Teomitl's face was set. "That has never been a possibility."

  "Who do you think you're convincing?" Tizoc-tzin laughed, a joyless sound that would have frightened even Lord Death. "She will forever be a peasant's daughter. You are imperial blood. You will be Master of the House of Darts. Do you think it's so easy to renounce your rank?"

  "Perhaps, when I see what it's made of you. Look at you, brother. Look at you." Teomitl's voice was almost a cry. "You're a warrior and you cower in your own rooms."

  "I'm not a warrior." Tizoc-tzin's voice was quiet, an admission of defeat. I looked up, caught Mihmatini's eye. There had to be a way we could make a graceful exit, before either of them remembered we were there. They were both behaving as if they were alone, baring more of their hearts and faces than I wanted to see. 

  Unfortunately, Tizoc-tzin caught my movement. "I'm not a warrior," he repeated, "but I'm not about to forget how your priest behaved."

  "He's not mine," Teomitl said stiffly, and then realised what he had done – openly admitted I was not under his protection. He opened his mouth to speak again, but I shook my head to silence him. Tizoc-tzin would have attacked me, one way or another. 

  "Then he can speak for himself."

  "What do you want to hear?" I asked. I hadn't meant to be so insolent, but I couldn't quite contain myself. He was behaving like an intoxicated jaguar, clawing at everything before his eyes – his own brother, my sister… "I can't offer anything but the truth." 

  "I've already heard your 'truth'." Tizoc-tzin waved a pale hand. "I have no interest in that."

  "Then what else do you want to hear?" I wasn't quite sure I could contain myself. "My Lord, we have star-demons waiting for a lapse on our part, ritual or not. We need a new Revered Speaker." 

  His face twisted, in what might have been pain. "And you'll have one."

  How had he changed, so quickly? The man who had screamed at me and accused me of nepotism had shrunk to this… this wasted thing crouching in the shadows, this living corpse whose every protestation of life rang false.

  But he still had claws. He could still see me thrown out of Court, if the fancy took him.

  He appeared to focus his attention on the ground, for the moment. "I admit I may have erred in ignoring the star-demons. Or, at the least, being unable to foresee what kind of carnage you'd wreak in the palace during your investigation."

  The admission of weakness was surprising; the sting in the words that followed was not. "I've told you before," I said, unable to contain myself. "Someone is summoning star-demons, and they'll go on summoning them until they are stopped."

  "Someone." His gaze rose, transfixed me, gaunt and dark, like the depths of Mictlan itself. "Who?"

  If only I knew. But why was he so interested, all of a sudden? I couldn't understand what had changed. "That's why I'm investigating," I said, cautiously. "Your brother's wife Xahuia might have had something to do with it."

  Or, at the very least, she would have ideas. I had little doubt she'd had spies all over the palace. But, if she was the guilty party, which sorcerer had she suborned? She needed to cast a spell within the palace where she no longer was; and her own sorcerer lay dead. I made a note to ask Palli about the women's quarters, to see if they could find anything in there that might be of use.