TWENTY-FIVE

The Fifth World

Tizoc-tzin’s formal designation was a small and subdued affair. With his brother’s funeral over, and him still in a state of weakness, he simply opted for a quiet ceremony with the governors and the magistrates. The Revered Speakers of Texcoco and Tlacopan, his fellow rulers in the Triple Alliance, offered him congratulations, and sacrificed quails to mark the beginning of an auspicious reign.

Tizoc-tzin wasn’t quite yet crowned, of course. That would come after the coronation war, when he had brought back enough prisoners and slaves for a true celebration. But, nevertheless, he was already invested, with enough power to keep us all safe.

After the ceremony he received us in his private quarters. There were no slaves and no noblemen, just Teomitl, Acamapichtli, Nezahual-tzin and I, standing barefoot amidst the luxurious decorations, and the exquisitely carved columns. Fine feathers fans and gold ornaments were casually strewn across the room.

Quenami was beside his master, richly attired, with coloured heron plumes at his belt, blue-and-black paint, and a stylised fire-serpent winding its way across the hem of his tunic. The air smelled faintly of pine needles and copal incense, and there was the faintest hint of smoke, causing my eyes to itch.

”I am given to understand that we owe you a debt,” Tizoctzin said. His eyes were sunken deep, his skin a pale brown, almost waxy, and he stumbled a little on his words. I wasn’t sure if it was because something was wrong with his speech, if my delay in the ritual had cost him something, or if it was simply because he disliked uttering them. By the scowl on his face, there was at least some of the latter.

Nezahual-tzin shrugged. “I’m glad to see proper diplomatic relations restored between Tenochtitlan and Texcoco. I shall look forward to your coronation, my lord.”

”I see.” Tizoc-tzin bent to look at Nezahual-tzin, as if not quite sure what to make of him. “Perhaps you do,” he said grudgingly.

”It’s in our best interests.” Nezahual-tzin’s smile was wide and dazzling, that of a carefree sixteen year-old. I wasn’t fooled.

”And you.” Tizoc-tzin turned his attention back to Acamapichtli and me.

”We did our duty,” Acamapichtli said. “To the Revered Speaker and to the Empire.” One of his arms, the one that had thrown the blade at Itzpapalotl, was a little stiff, and I didn’t think it would ever move smoothly again. My own legs ached whenever I rose. Whatever Huitzilpochtli had said, there had been a price for entering the heartland. There was always a price.

Tizoc-tzin was silent for a while. His gaze moved from Acamapichtli to me and back again. “Then I am assured of your loyalty.”

Not surprising, I guessed. A little saddening, but then I had known when we had brought him back to life. Death had changed nothing in him, no lessons had been learnt.

”You’ve always had our loyalty,” Acamapichtli said effortlessly.

”I have pledged service to the Revered Speaker of the Mexica Empire,” I said.

He noticed the omission of his name, that much was clear. His eyes narrowed. I fully expected him to demand something more of me, some show of obeisance, but he didn’t.

”I see,” he said, again. “So that’s how things are.” He leant back, his back straight once more, and turned back to Quenami. “The council is still empty, and we have to see about appointments. Teomitl?”

Teomitl rose from his crouch. For a moment, he and Tizoc-tzin faced each other, and I wasn’t quite sure what I read in their gazes. It wasn’t love, or even respect. Perhaps simply what my brother Neutemoc and I shared – the knowledge that, no matter how distant we might be, how difficult we might find getting on together, we still shared the same blood.

At length Tizoc-tzin nodded. “I need a Master of the House of Darts.”

”I don’t think–” Teomitl started.

”Nonsense. You’ll do fine,” Tizoc-tzin said. “If I can’t trust family–”

”That’s not the problem.” Teomitl’s face hovered on the edge of divinity again. “You know what’s wrong.”

”Do I?” Tizoc-tzin looked at him for a while more. His pale face was unreadable; his skin pale and translucent, enough to reveal the bones and the shape of the skull. He’d died. He’d come back. We couldn’t pretend things were normal. “We’ll have to see about another appointment for her. Some gift of jewellery or perhaps a grant of land. It would be unseemly for my brother to marry beneath him.”

What? I looked at Tizoc-tzin. I had misheard. But, no, Teomitl still stood, as if struck by Tlaloc’s lightning. “Brother–”

”You have objections?”

”No, no, I don’t. But–”

”Don’t get me wrong.” Tizoc-tzin was still scowling, like an unappeased spirit back from the underworld. “I don’t like this. I don’t approve of this. I’ll stand by what I think of your priest.”

Always pleasant, I could see. But as long as he agreed…

”But you’re my brother, and there will be no war between us.”

Because he couldn’t afford it, or because he loved Teomitl? I couldn’t tell, not any more, what those two felt for each other. It seemed to me that something had broken in the hours before my arrest, when Tizoc-tzin had cast doubts on Mihmatini’s reputation, something had come apart then, a mask broken into four hundred pieces, and things would never be the same.

Teomitl stood straight, as if to attention. “Thank you.”

Tizoc-tzin scowled. “But you’re getting the other appointment as well. Don’t flatter yourself. It’s time you took part in imperial affairs.”

”I know,” Teomitl said. He bowed, very low, a subject to his Revered Speaker, but I could feel the impatience brimming up in him.

”That will be all,” Tizoc-tzin said. “You may leave.”

“Don’t look so sad,” Acamapichtli said, as he raised the entrance-curtain in a tinkle of bells. We walked down the steps into the courtyard – deserted at this hour of the afternoon – almost companionably.

”I’m not,” I said, stiffly. “We got what we wanted, didn’t we?”

He looked at me, a smile spreading on his face. “Of course. Because we worked together.”

I wasn’t in the mood for a moral, especially coming from him. “It’s not an experience I’m anxious to repeat too often. Still, I suppose I don’t have a choice.”

Acamapichtli smiled. “You’re learning.” He clapped me on the back, like an old friend. “We’ll meet again.” And then he was gone, striding down the stairs as if nothing had happened, ready to play his little games once again.

Learning? I supposed, in a way, that I was, but not lessons he’d ever have understood.

Teomitl caught up with me at the exit to the courtyard under a fresco of butterflies and moths, a stream of souls rising up from the ground towards the huge face of the Fifth Sun. Nezahual-tzin fell in with us, casually and innocently, though he never did anything without cause. “So, I take it I’m invited to the wedding?”

Teomitl scowled, an expression reminiscent of Tizoc-tzin at his best. “You’re the Revered Speaker of Texcoco. I don’t think I could leave you out if I tried.”

”How nice,” Nezahual-tzin said. “I’ll come with pleasure.”

”I have no doubt.” Teomitl shook his head, as if to scare off a nagging fly. “Acatl-tzin –”

”Yes?”

”He hasn’t changed, has he?”

I shook my head.

”People seldom change,” Nezahual-tzin said. We passed the imperial aviary where the birds pressed themselves against the bars of their huge cages, the quetzal-birds and the parrots, the herons and the quails, everything laid out for the Revered Speaker’s pleasure. “They think they do, but in the end most change is an illusion. Perhaps the greatest one put in the Fifth World.”

I knew. I knew that Quenami was going to continue grating on my nerves, that Acamapichtli would support me only as far as his own interests, that I would never be able to rely on them.

But, the Duality protect us, I was still going to work with them. “He’s granted you a wife,” I said finally. “Don’t ask for more than that.”

”It would be arrogant to. Not to mention out of place.” Teomitl puffed his cheeks thoughtfully. “He’ll deal with you, though, in the end. Quenami will convince him to.”

”He has what he wanted,” I said. “The Turquoise-and

Gold Crown. He should be more amenable now.” So long as we didn’t contradict him in anything. It was going to be a difficult reign. Thank the Duality I had the rest of my clergy with me.

”I guess so,” Teomitl said, but he sounded unconvinced. “I’m not sure–”

”He’s your brother. And the Revered Speaker.”

”I know. I guess… I guess he’s not who I thought he was.” He smiled, suddenly carefree, pure Teomitl. “But it’s not so bad, in the end.”

This from a man who had just become heir-apparent to the Mexica Empire. I stifled a smile. “I’m sure you can live with it. Come on. Let’s find Mihmatini and tell her the good news, and then I’ll go back to the Duality House and finish Ceyaxochitl’s vigil.”

We strolled out of the Imperial Palace, past the Serpent Wall, and into the familiar crowd of the Sacred Precinct. The Fifth Sun was overhead, beating down upon us, the heavens bright and impossibly blue. Blood ran down the steps of the Great Temple, going underground to settle into the grooves of the disk, sealing again and again the prison of She of the Silver Bells, and the star-demons were gone. Everything was right with the world, or as right as it could be.

Except…

Except that, at the edge of the sky, I could see them, the same storm clouds as in the heartland, slowly closing in, grey and swollen and angry, a reminder of the god’s presence. And I didn’t need Mictlan’s magic to see the skeleton beneath Tizoc-tzin’s skin. We had put a dead man on the throne, an empty husk, animated only by magic and the blessing of a god.

When Huitzilpochtli’s blessings and magic ran out – and they always did – what would happen then?