TWO

The Moon Hungers to Outshine the Sun

 
 

The murdered man did not live in the Imperial Chambers, or in those of the high nobility: his rooms were as far down the palace hierarchy as they could be without it being an outright insult. They were on the ground floor, opening up onto a small courtyard away from the bustle of palace activity with a very simple fountain to make up the garden. The walls were decorated with rich frescoes, but without the outright ostentation that marked the imperial family.

Somehow “killed” seemed a deeply inaccurate description of what had been done to the councilman. To say that he had been torn apart would also have been an understatement. There was no body left, not as such, just an elongated, glistening mass of bloody flesh with bits and pieces of organs spread all over the stone floor. Something which might have been an arm lay outstretched on one of the wicker chests; something else coiled around the braziers, and on the reed mat, lay the two globes of the eyeballs and an elongated shape that had to be the rippedout tongue, somehow the most uncomfortable detail in the whole mess. A small obsidian knife lay near an out-flung hand, preceded by a trail of red.

Blood stained the room, stains of various sizes, all the way down to small drops marring the frescoes. It had not been quick, or easy.

Ordinarily I would have knelt, closed the body’s eyes and said the death rites; this time, it seemed like the body was scattered over the whole room. So I just stood there, and said the prayers I always did.

 

“We live on Earth, in the Fifth World

Not forever, but a little while

As jade breaks, as gold is crushed

We wither away, like feathers we crumble

Not forever on Earth, but a little while…”

 

Teomitl waited until I had finished before he spoke up.

“What do you think killed him?”

Given the remains, it was unlikely to be anything human. “Whatever you choose,” I said, angrily. I hadn’t expected the evening to go wrong, so fast. “Anything could have done it. With your brother dead, we’re wide open to whoever feels like summoning creatures.”

”Acatl-tzin,” Teomitl said, with an impatient shake of his head. “I’m on your side, remember?”

I sighed. “Yes. I know.”

The She-Snake had left after only a cursory glance inside; apparently he was going to interrogate the guards to know how such a thing could have happened. I’d sent Palli back to the temple to bring back priests and supplies, and begin the rituals over the Emperor’s corpse.

The two other High Priests were outside trying hard to hide their nausea. Ironic, considering that they’d officiated at so many sacrifices. But the offerings to the Southern Hummingbird simply had their hearts removed and those to the Storm Lord were drowned. There was blood, but not that kind of butchery.

My order, on the other hand, dissected dead bodies to know how they died. This much frenzied bloodletting was unfamiliar; but the contents of a human body were almost like old friends.

And this particular one…

I knelt by the side of the largest mass, staring at it for a while with my priest-senses. “Tell me about him,” I said. “The dead man.”

Teomitl spread his hands, a little more defensively than I’d have expected. “Ocome. A minor member of the imperial family, perhaps descended from a Revered Speaker three, four generations ago. The blood ran thin.”

”That’s not really helping,” I said, not looking away from the scattered flesh. Magic still clung to the room, the memory of a memory, faint and almost colourless, as if something had washed it away. “Any family?”

”Distant, I think. Ocome’s wife died a while ago, and his marriage had not been fruitful. He’d be by far the most unsuccessful member of his family.”

Aside, of course, from the position on the council.

So, probably not personal. I didn’t feel any of the hatred which accompanied summonings done for vengeance. “Anything else?” I asked.

”Ocome was always trying to work out which side would win, so he could join them and be elevated still further.” Teomitl spat on the ground. “No face, no heart.”

”And lately?”

”He’d been supporting Tizoc,” Teomitl admitted grudgingly. “Though it hadn’t been for long.”

Great. A professional waverer. His death was a message, but it could easily have been to Tizoc’s side as to any of the other factions. Continually shifting allegiances meant Ocome must have made many enemies – not much to be gleaned from here, not until I had a better idea of the sides involved.

”Hmm,” I said. I fingered a spot of blood on the ground thoughtfully. Outwardly, everything seemed recent, except for the magical traces, which had faded much faster than they should have. “How long ago would you say he died?”

Teomitl had been standing by the entrance to the courtyard, looking away as if lost in thought. He turned towards the room, quietly taking in the scene, utterly unfazed by the gore. But then, he was a warrior who had already seen two full campaigns. He, too, had seen his share of mutilated bodies.

”They’re clean wounds, and the blood is still pretty fresh. Two, three hours ago?”

The man had died in battle, no matter how unequal it had been. As such, his soul was not bound for the oblivion of the underworld but into the Heavens to join the dead warriors and the women lost in childbirth.

However, something bothered me about the body. The magic should not have been so weak. There could have been some interference from the wards, but the way it read seemed to indicate that the body had barely been alive in the first place – as if he’d come here wounded or already dying.

I supposed he could have been torn apart after his death; and, given the state of his body, we’d never know if he’d died before or afterwards. But most supernatural creatures didn’t mutilate dead bodies. They found their thrills in the fear of the hunted, their power in the suffering of the tormented. Dead men could neither fear not suffer.

A human could have managed this, I guessed, but not easily. It would have taken time, and a great deal of dedication.

I could, however, think of a particular creature whose habits fitted this all too well, down to the fading magic over the remains.

And, the Southern Hummingbird blind me, I didn’t want to be right. The star-demons couldn’t be here, in the palace, not yet…

”I need your help,” I told Teomitl. “Come over here.”

He bounded over to me in a clink of jewellery and stood over a relatively clean patch of stone. He had magic wrapped around him like a cocoon, an intricate network of light that marked Huitzilpochtli’s protection. It was that magic which I planned to tap in order to ascertain whether the councilman’s soul had indeed fled into the Heavens. And, if it hadn’t…

No, better not to think on the consequences of that now.

For the second time in the night, I slashed my earlobes open, and spread the blood around us in a quincunx, the fivefold cross, symbol of the beleaguered world of mortals. Then I started a chant to Tonatiuh, the Fifth Sun, the Southern Hummingbird’s incarnation as the supreme light.

 

“Dressed in yellow plumes

You are He who rises, He of the region of heat

Those of Amantla are Your enemies

We join You, We honour You in making war…”

 

I slashed a wound in the palm of my hand, extended it to Teomitl, who had done the same. As we held hands, our blood mingled, trickled on the ground as one.

 

“Dressed in paper

In the region of dust, you whirl in the desert

Those of Pipitlan are Your enemies

We join You, We Honour You in making war…”

 

Light blazed across the pattern, spreading inwards, until it seemed that it would smother Teomitl for a bare moment, before his protection sprang to life again, an island of light within the light. Everything else faded into insignificance: the room, the frescoes, the grisly remnants outside and inside the circle. The colours were swept away, merged into the light; the faces of the gods and goddesses became the featureless ones of strangers.

The air was growing warmer, the ground under our feet was the red sand of the deserts, and a dry, choking wind rose in the room.

In the light was the huge visage of Tonatiuh the Fifth Sun, His war-painted face melding with that of a beast, sable hairs sprouting around His sharp nose, His cheeks still bearing the scars of His original sacrifice, His lolling tongue dripping blood. His eyes, slowly opening, were twin bonfires wrapped around the huge, hulking shape of a human being: the god Himself, still burning after all that time, endlessly burning to offer light and warmth to Grandmother Earth.

His gaze rested on us – a touch more searing than that of the wind – before moving away.

The wind died down, the desert retreated into the yellow stone of the room; the world sprang back into painful focus.

I exhaled burning air, gasping for the freshness of the mortal world. Teomitl’s knees had buckled, and he was slowly pushing himself up again, with angry pride on his face. “Not a careful god,” he said.

”No,” I said. Teomitl pushed himself hard, but in return he demanded high things from everyone around him, gods included. “But that’s bad.”

”What?”

”He wasn’t looking here,” I said, trying to forget the icy void opening in my stomach. “No more than at any other place. It’s not sacred ground. No soul has ascended into Heaven from here.”

Teomitl looked puzzled. “The body…”

”I know,” I said. In my head was running a chant we learnt in the House of Tears, the school for the priesthood: The moon hungers to outrace, to outshine the sun; the stars hunger to come down, to rend our flesh; the stars hunger to fall down, to steal our souls… “It’s a star-demon, and it has his soul.”

”That can’t be–” Teomitl started. “They…”

They couldn’t come here, not unless summoned; and, even then, it would require at least the lifeblood of a human being, spilled by a strong practitioner, in honour of a powerful god. We had a sorcerer loose in the city, one who wished no good to the Mexica Empire.

And then another, horrible thought stopped me. What if it was no sorcerer?

What if She’d got free?

”Come on,” I said to Teomitl. “We have to check something. I’ll explain when we get there.”

 

To my apprentice’s credit, he followed without demur, though I could feel him struggling to contain his impatience as we strode out of the palace.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

”The Great Temple.” I headed back towards the Serpent Wall, though not before looking up. The stars were still there, still reassuringly far. It had to be a freak occurrence, had to be someone taking advantage of the current power vacuum to loose fire and blood upon us.

”You want to pray?” Teomitl shook his head. “This hardly seems the time, Acatl-tzin.”

”I’m not planning to pray,” I said. The Sacred Precinct opened up in front of us. Directly ahead was the Jaguar House, reserved for elite warriors, still lit up, with snatches of song and perfume wafting up to us. And, further down, the mass of the Great Temple, looming in the darkness like a mountain. “I’m going to make sure we don’t have a bigger problem on our hands.”

”In the Great Temple?” Teomitl asked. “It’s just a shrine.”

I shook my head. “Not only that.”

Teomitl started to protest, and then he shook his head. His gaze turned towards the bulk of the Great Temple pyramid, looming over the rest of the Sacred Precinct. A fine lattice of light rose around the stone structure, flowing over the stairs and the double shrine at the top two mingled radiances, the strong sunlight of Huitzilpochtli the Southern Hummingbird, and the weaker, harsh one of the Storm Lord Tlaloc, tinged with the dirty white of rain clouds.

Teomitl’s face twisted. A pale, jade-coloured cast washed over his features, until he seemed a carving himself. He was calling on the magic of his other protector Chalchiuhtlicue, Jade Skirt, goddess of lakes and streams. His gaze went down, all the way into the foundations of the Great Temple “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

What mattered was not the temple, it never had. What mattered was what it had been built on, Who it had imprisoned since the beginning of the Mexica Empire; a goddess who was our worst enemy.

 

• • • •

 

It was the Hour of the Fire God, the last one before dawn; and the priests of Huitzilpochtli were already climbing the steps, preparing their conch-shells and their drums to salute the return of the Fifth Sun. The priests of Tlaloc the Storm Lord, much less numerous, had gathered to offer blood in gratitude for the harvest.

Neither order paid much attention to me or Teomitl; their heads turned, dipped in a bare acknowledgment – tinged with contempt in my case, for they knew all too well what their own High Priests thought of me.

We climbed up the double set of stairs that led to the platform at the top of the pyramid, feeling magic grow stronger and stronger around us, the Southern Hummingbird’s magic, a fine mesh of sunlight and moonlight slowly undulating like satiated snakes, descending around us, mingling with Teomitl’s protection, resting on my shoulders like a cloak of feathers. It hissed like a spent breath when it met Lord Death’s knives at my belt, but did not do anything more. A relief, since Huitzilpochtli’s magic, like the god Himself, could be violent and unpredictable.

Atop the temple were two trapezoidal shrines, one for each god, from which the pungent reek of copal incense was already rising into the sky. Slightly before the shrines the stairs branched. On a much smaller platform to the right opened an inclined hole, the beginning of a tunnel that descended into the depths of the pyramid. The entry was heavily warded, with layer upon layer of magic, bearing the characteristic, energetic strokes of Ceyaxochitl, the old woman who was Guardian of the Mexica Empire, and the subtler ones of the previous priest of Huitzilpochtli. They parted around us, though with a resistance like the crossing of an entrance-curtain.

Beneath us was a flight of stairs going down into the darkness. A stone chest with its lid flipped open held torches, and a single flame was lit at the entrance. We both took a torch and set it aflame before going down.

It was damp, and dark, and unpleasantly cool. The deeper we went, the more the magic tightened around us – as if a snake, once pleasantly settled around the shoulders, had suddenly decided to constrict. Our breaths rattled in our chests until each inhalation burnt, and each exhalation seemed to leech heat from our bodies and from our hearts. Even Teomitl’s light from his protective spell grew weaker and weaker; I could see him slowing down before I, too, adapted my step to his. Together, we moved through the growing thickness, moment after agonising moment.

We passed many platforms on our way. The Great Temple had been rebuilt several times, each incarnation grander and more imposing than the last, wrapping its limestone structure around the shells of all its predecessors. Altars shone in the darkness, faint smudges on them, the memories of previous sacrifices.

At last we reached the bottom of the stairs, the foundation of the Great Temple, and entered a wide chamber, its walls so covered with carvings that the eye barely had time to settle on one figure before another caught its attention.

At regular intervals lines had been carved into the stone, slight depressions linking the floor to the top of the temple, channelling the blood of sacrifices all the way down to pool on the floor. It reeked like a slaughter yard – even worse than an ordinary shrine, for there was almost no way for the air to escape such a confined space.

The floor itself was a huge painted disk, three times as large as the calendar stone that hung in the shrine above. It lay on the floor – in fact, it was the floor, for it filled most of the room from wall to wall, with only a little space for an altar at the further end. The carvings on it were almost too huge to be deciphered. I could see bits and pieces of them; an arm bent backwards, a severed foot, a gigantic head with a band and rattles, separated from the dismembered torso. There was a feeling of movement, as if all the pieces were still tumbling down from the original sacrifice. Blood coated everything, its power pulsating in the air above the disk like a heat wave.

I knelt by the disk, and carefully extended a hand to touch the

edge. There was a slight sound, like the tinkle of silver bells, and I felt the stone warm under my finger, the only warmth in the room, beating like a human heart, pulsating with Her anger and murderous rage, an urge to water the earth with my lifeblood, to tear me from limb to limb and inhale my dying breath, to scatter my essence within Herself until nothing remained…

”Acatl-tzin?”

With difficulty I tore myself from the stone and looked up at Teomitl. “She’s still sealed here,” I said. Otherwise I wouldn’t just be remembering Her rage, I would be dead. The wards still held. The blood magic, renewed with the daily sacrifices of prisoners, was still as strong as ever.

I’d have breathed more easily, had the atmosphere of the room allowed it.

”You’re sure,” Teomitl said. “It’s…” He knelt in turn, though he was careful never to touch the stone. “If She were to break free…”

Then She would regain the control of the star-demons, the creatures She had made in the distant past. She would stride forth as in the days before the Mexica Empire, hungry for blood and human hearts, eager to erase from the Fifth World all memory of Her brother’s chosen people.

All gods were vicious and capricious, but Coyolxauhqui – She of the Silver Bells, who had once been goddess of the Moon – was the worst. The others could be cajoled with the proper offerings, bribed into protecting us; we were weak and amusing, but it was our blood that kept the sun in the sky, and our blood that kept Them satiated and powerful. Coyolxauhqui – She was war and fire and blood, and She would not rest until the Fifth Sun tumbled from the sky, and darkness covered Grandmother Earth from end to end, as in the very beginning.

”I know,” I said. “But She’s not free.” Not yet. It was not only the blood of sacrifices that kept She of the Silver Bells imprisoned, but also the Revered Speaker, the living embodiment in the Fifth World of Southern Hummingbird’s power.

And, at present, we had no Revered Speaker.

“Come on. Let’s go back up,” I said.

The return journey was much easier, as we climbed the weight lifted from our shoulders, and the constriction in our chests and necks gradually eased. The air grew warm again, and we emerged under the grey sky before dawn feeling almost refreshed.

Unfortunately, that feeling of relaxation lasted for perhaps a fraction of a moment. “Acatl,” a familiar, imperious voice said. “I had a feeling you might be the one getting past the wards.”

Of course. I turned and beheld Ceyaxochitl, the Guardian of the Empire, the keeper of the magical boundaries, resplendent under her feather headdress. She leant on a cane of red polished wood that had to have come from the far south, deep into Maya land.

She did not look sarcastic, for once, but by the gleam in her eyes I knew I was in for trouble.

 

“Star-demons,” Ceyaxochitl said, thoughtfully. She had dragged us back to the Duality House, where slaves brought us bowls of cocoa and a light meal of fried newts and amaranth seeds. We sat around a reed mat in a small room at the back of the House, which opened onto one of the more private courtyards, a garden of marigolds and small palm trees. It was silent and deserted even at this hour of the morning, when every slave should have been out grinding the maize flour for today’s meals.

As was her wont, Ceyaxochitl did not sit down. she remained standing, towering over us. The slaves finished laying out the meal on the mat, and withdrew, drawing the entrancecurtain closed in a tinkle of bells.

”Star-demons are to be expected,” I said. But it was much too soon for them.

”Yes, yes,” Ceyaxochitl said. “However, strictly speaking, the heart of the Great Temple is the province of Southern Hummingbird’s High Priest, Acatl. Not yours.”

”It doesn’t seem like Quenami is over-preoccupied with stardemons,” I said, with a touch of anger.

Ceyaxochitl sighed. “These are difficult times, Acatl. Fraught with intrigue.”

”I know. That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I said. Especially not when it risked supernatural creatures in the palace, or in the streets of the city.

”You never did,” Teomitl said, with some amusement.

I threw him a warning glance. He might be making progress with the magic of living blood, but we were going to have to work on the respect side of things. “Apart from the impressive costume, you don’t look very involved in the succession either.”

Teomitl didn’t react to the jibe. “I’m not in a position to influence that, so I just keep my head down.”

”You’re Tizoc-tzin’s brother,” I said. “Master of the House of Darts, if all goes his way.” Though I still couldn’t quite reconcile myself to the idea of Tizoc-tzin’s ascension.

”Perhaps.” Teomitl fingered the jade beads around his wrist – an unusual evasion for him, who always spoke his mind without worrying about the consequences.

Ceyaxochitl banged her cane on the ground. “Let’s keep to the original subject, please.”

I winced. Our relationship had always been rocky and had not improved much in the past year. When Ceyaxochitl set about to helping you, she would do what she judged best for you, whether you agreed or not. Needless to say, I seldom shared her point of view.

”What more do you want?” I asked. “Someone summoned a star-demon and tore a councillor to death in a heavily warded place. I had to make sure that it didn’t come from She of the Silver Bells.”

Ceyaxochitl nodded, but it took her some time. “A good idea. But still–”

”Look,” I said, determined to put an end to that particular matter. “I know it’s the province of the other two High Priests. Right now, they’re too busy trying to influence who will become Revered Speaker, or over-confident. I’d rather do it on my own than have the star-demons loose around us. You know that we’re wide open now, vulnerable to pretty much anything. People will want to take advantage of that.”

”I suppose,” Ceyaxochitl said. She did not look overly happy. “Still, I have other things to do.”

As Guardian of the Mexica Empire, she was the agent of the Duality, the source and the arbiter of the gods. Her work was to protect the life of the Revered Speaker and, when that life was ended, to set wards around the Empire in order to keep the star-demons and the monsters of the underworld at bay.

”Then, if you’re busy, just leave me in peace,” I said.

”Not so fast, Acatl.” She banged her cane on the ground again. “You must know where this is going.”

I raised an eyebrow. “If it’s not She of the Silver Bells, then it’s a sorcerer, determined to sow chaos among us. The first of many. It’s not the grievances that lack.” The Mexica Empire was made of subjugated populations from whom we demanded regular, sometimes exorbitant, tribute; and foreigners were many in Tenochtitlan, though most would be slaves or under some form of indenture.

It could also be someone trying to influence the succession by other means. But still, you’d have to be mad to do it by decimating the council, not when there were so many other means of influencing it.

”And how do you plan to find such a sorcerer?” Ceyaxochitl asked, shaking her head.

As usual, she called my competences into question. “I am not without resources. Magic, especially magic that powerful, will leave a trail.”

”Yes, yes,” Ceyaxochitl said, shaking her head as if I were still a wayward child. “You need help, Acatl.”

”I have my order.”

The corner of her lips curled up in a smile. “You do. But I was thinking of more massive resources.”

Over the course of the night, I had faced two High Priests and a vice-emperor, our most powerful god, and His imprisoned sister – not to mention that my last hour of sleep had been in the evening. I didn’t have the patience to play along with her games of dominance any more. “Are you offering your help?”

”Of course. In recognition for past wrongs.” She turned, and glanced through the entrance-curtain. The grey light was subtly changing colour, sunrise was not far away.

”Past wrongs?” A year ago, Ceyaxochitl had embroiled me in yet another set of intrigues, involving one of my brothers. She had not seen fit, though, to provide me with all the information at her disposal, or with more than a token assistance. The resulting conflagration had almost levelled Tenochtitlan; it had cost the life of my sister-in-law, and had tarred my family’s reputation so thoroughly we were going to require years to even start our rehabilitation. “You’ll excuse me if I’m not entirely ready to believe you’re offering only out of remorse.”

Her lips curled up again. “As I said before, you may not think it, but I always do things for your own good, Acatl.”

And that was the problem. “Of course,” I said. But I could ill afford to refuse her. “What did you have in mind?”

Ceyaxochitl had the grace not to look triumphant. “We’ll keep a watch on the situation at the Imperial Court.”

”You have information?”

”A little,” Ceyaxochitl said. “I can tell you of the factions I know at court. Tizoc-tzin, the She-Snake, several of the princes, and the other rulers of the Triple Alliance, of course.”

”Of course.” Our brothers, our co-rulers in the Mexica Empire, dreaming, no doubt, of the day when they headed the Triple Alliance instead of being subservient to it. “They’ll have sent runners to them.”

Teomitl looked up from his bowl of cocoa. “It was done before you arrived, Acatl-tzin.”

A blare of conch-shells and wooden drums cut us off. The Fifth Sun had risen outside. There was a pause, during which we all scratched our earlobes and spilled blood to honour His return, to pray for His continued existence and protection, even though Axayacatl-tzin’s death had severed him from the Fifth World.

 

“In the place of light

You give life, You hide Yourself

Mirror which illuminates things

Follower of the Heaven’s Path

Mirror which illuminates things…”

 

When it was over, Ceyaxochitl came back to the original discussion as if nothing in particular had happened – and, for her, perhaps it was the case. The Duality had no favourites. “The other two Revered Speakers of the Triple Alliance will be here in one, two days. The other rulers might take slightly longer, but then they don’t have a vote in who wears the Turquoiseand-Gold Crown.”

”But they still might be behind this, or give it their support.”

”It’s still only one isolated incident,” Ceyaxochitl said carefully.

”Yes,” I said. “It might be personal. It might be isolated. But the odds are that it won’t remain so for long. Other people will emulate it. The usual barriers against summonings are weak, and everyone will know that.” The emptiness in the fabric of the Fifth World was still there, an itch at the back of our minds – a hole that would only be filled by a new Revered Speaker.

Teomitl spoke in the silence with the voice of one used to command. “We must show our strength. And fast.”

I thought of She of the Silver Bells, of Her hunger, of Her rage that we still dared to be alive, to imprison Her anew with every sacrifice, every drop of blood we shed in honour of Her brother Huitzilpochtli.

We had to show our strength, or we would be broken without recourse.