SEVEN

The Chalca Wars

 

 

The following morning, I woke up, made my offerings of blood to Lord Death, and went back to my temple. The priests seemed to have all disappeared. After a cursory search, I found them gathered in one of the largest rooms, watching Ichtaca examine the body of a dead woman: the older offering priests in front, the novice priests a little way behind – and, all the way at the back of the room, a handful of calmecac students, their pale faces fascinated.

”No blood,” Ichtaca was saying, pointing at the livid face. “She’s been in that position for a while…”

He’d be cutting her open next, if he wasn’t satisfied, trying to determine if her death had been natural or provoked. It was a common enough event in the temple. I’d done a few such examinations myself, but thankfully I’d never had the whole clergy in attendance.

I withdrew quietly from the doorframe, and went to the storehouse to collect Palli’s offerings. Then I walked back to Xochiquetzal’s house.

In the courtyard, the same insolent slave was waiting for me, lounging against the trunk of a pine tree like a man who had all the time in the world.

“Back again, priest? You must really love Her.”

I said, “I’d like to see Her, if it’s not too much trouble.” That last, because I couldn’t quite contain my anger.

He shrugged, fully aware of my impatience, basking in it. “Probably not. But then who knows?”

He sauntered into the main room, closing the entrance-curtain behind him; and came back with a satisfied smile on his face.

”So?” I asked. The quetzal birds softly called to each other as the cage rocked in my hands.

He smiled, wider this time. “You may see Her, priest.” His gaze took in the offerings I was laden with, and he pursed his lips. “And pray that what you bring is sufficient.”

Inside, all was the same: the musky darkness, with the copal incense covering a rank smell that might have been, unsurprisingly, mingled sweat and sex; the goddess shining in the gloom, lounging on Her chair.

”Acatl,” She said, and even my name on Her lips was alluring.

My fingers clenched around the handle of the cage. “I’ve brought you what you asked for.”

She smiled. One of Her hands went, absent-mindedly, to rub at Her eyes, and something glistening fell to the floor. A tear, perhaps? But gods didn’t cry. “And you thought you could just drop them on the floor and be done?”

I had hoped, but known it wouldn’t be enough. “No,” I said.

I laid the cage, the rattle and the wrapped jade earrings on the floor, and slowly divested myself of my cloak. Around my wrists hung bracelets of sea-shells: an odd feeling for me, since my usual worship did not include music. I tried to forget how foolish I looked – Neutemoc, I did this for Neutemoc – and slowly started singing the words of the hymn:

 

“You were born in Paradise

You come from the Place of Flowers

You, the only flower, the new, the glorious one

Dwelling in the House of Dawn, a new, a glorious flower…”

 

As I sang, I moved my wrists, so that the clinking sounds of the sea-shells accompanied the words I uttered, filling the silences with their voice.

 

“Go forth to the dancing-place, to the place of water, To the houses of Tamoanchan…”

 

Xochiquetzal shifted on Her chair. Was it just my impression, or had She grown larger? Her eyes shone in the gloom, like those of a jaguar about to leap. And Her smile… Her smile was dazzling, revealing teeth as neat and as sharp as those of sharks.

 

“Hear the call of the quetzal bird, o youths,
Hear its flute along the river, o women,
Go forth to the dancing-place, to the place of water,
To the houses of Tamoanchan…”

 

She’d risen from Her chair, was walking towards me, growing larger and larger with each step, until Her shadow entirely enfolded me – and She kept smiling: the same smile that sent a thrill running through me – fear or desire I didn’t know, I couldn’t separate them, it was all I could do to keep singing…

 

“Hear… it calling out to the gods…”

 

And then She was by my side, kneeling to touch the cage of the quetzal birds. It burst apart in a shower of sparks, and the male ascended into the air, a streak of emerald-green and blood-red. It kept flying upwards, even though I knew it should have hit the rafters of the ceiling; but the room had changed, become vast and unknowable, its walls the dense undergrowth of the jungle, the dais a brackish pool, smelling of mud and fragrant herbs.

At the apex of its flight, the male quetzal folded its wings and plummeted downwards, its long green tail streaming behind it like the unbound hair of a courtesan. It sang as it dived: a hollow, high-pitched sound that seemed to meld with its descent, and that sent a thrill through my bones, as if I were the one courting the female, I the one with lust raging through my veins.

The female bird, still on the ground, raised its eyes. At the last possible moment, the male broke out of the dive and came to perch on the remnants of the cage, cocking its head questioningly. The female made a quick, nodding movement. And, in a blur of green and blue they were upon each other, mating with the desperation of butterflies about to die.

Nausea, harsh, unexpected, welled up in my throat. I turned my gaze away from the birds.

The Quetzal Flower was back on Her dais, smiling. In Her hand were the jade earrings: she tossed them up and down, unheeding of the stone’s fragility. “An interesting display, Acatl.”

The room hadn’t reverted: we could still have been in the southern jungle, or in the Heaven of Tamoanchan, where all living things were born. The smell of muddy earth, mingling with the memory of copal incense, was overpowering.

I said nothing. In the face of who She was, all my words had scattered. The jade earrings went clink

clink in Xochiquetzal’s hands.

”Tolerable, I might say. Certainly a step in the right direction.”

It hurt to… Gather my thoughts, I had to gather my thoughts. “You promised–”

She inclined her head, gracefully. “Did I? Only in exchange for proper worship.”

”It – has – been – offered,” I managed to whisper.

”Has it?” the Quetzal Flower asked. Her voice was sly. “Other things are expected of a worshipper.”

A wave of desire swept through me, so strong I had to bite my lips in order not to cry out. I wanted Her as I’d never wanted any woman, any of my childhood loves, there could be no refusing her.

Was this, I thought, distantly, what Eleuia had had: some power that had drawn men to her like bees to honey?

Eleuia.

Neutemoc.

There was no time, not to let myself be battered into submission. “I gave – you – your due,” I said, my voice breaking on each word. I felt like a fish, swimming upriver; like a dead soul, climbing the Obsidian Mountains, shards driven in hands and feet, a burning desire to yield, to vanish into oblivion…

Too easy.

”Give me–”

”Your answer?” Xochiquetzal sounded disappointed. “You could have so much more, Acatl.”

”No,” I whispered. “I – haven’t come – here for illusions – for bliss–”

”Bliss is My dominion, Acatl,” the Quetzal Flower said. But She had shrunk, become more human, if such a term could be applied to Her. “But if you reject it…” She made a sweeping gesture with Her hands, and the room, too, seemed to shrink.

“I… am not Your servant.”

”No.” Her voice was angry, or perhaps bitter? “You never were. Go bury yourself with the dead, Acatl, if you can’t deal with what makes us alive.”

”I–” I started, slowly, wondering why her accusation cut me to the core.

Xochiquetzal smiled, a sated cat once more; but I could feel the undercurrent of frustration in her stance. Next to me, the two quetzal birds had grown still, devouring each other with their gazes.

”The baby’s father?” Xochiquetzal asked.

”Give me his name,” I whispered. “The proper offerings have been made. The hymn was sung, and the dance was right, every step of it.”

The Quetzal Flower let go of the jade bracelets. They crashed to the ground, shattered into a thousand pieces. I could have wept at Her casual rejection; but those weren’t my thoughts, they were Hers. I was – a priest, first and foremost – a man with an indicted brother. I had no desires of my own: no lovers, no children, no mark on the world.

No.

Still Her thoughts.

”Give me his name,” I said, again, articulating each syllable, letting the familiar sounds anchor me to the Fifth World.

On Her chair, the Quetzal Flower hissed. But finally she spoke. “His name? He was a man who loved her. A warrior she met in the Chalca Wars, and who understood her like no one else could.” She paused, rubbed at Her eyes, and She was no goddess, just a middle-aged woman with an ailment that wouldn’t go away. “You never understood her, Acatl. You went right and left, and you think you can encompass her.”

”No,” I said, and it was the truth. “I know nothing about her. But there’s no time. I need the father’s name.”

”There always is time,” Xochiquetzal said, shaking Her head. And She went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Her parents had to sell her during the Great Famine, did you know? Because they were poor and couldn’t feed her, they offered her to the first rich man who came along.”

”I don’t see what this has to do…” A name. I needed a name that I could give to Pinahui-tzin, so that Neutemoc would be free. A name, so that I could know the truth.

”He was a bully,” the Quetzal Flower said. She shook her head. “He bought her because he needed a slave on whom to release his anger, and he beat her every time she did something out of turn.”

”Slaves aren’t treated that badly,” I said. “She could have complained–”

”To whom? She was eight at the time, Acatl. She didn’t know better.”

”It’s interesting, but–”

”She wanted to be safe,” Xochiquetzal said. “After the Great Famine was over, and her parents bought her back, she swore to herself that her family wouldn’t ever starve again, that she would have enough power to be sheltered from harm. But in this world, there’s no such thing.” She smiled. “She swore Herself to me, because priests never go hungry.”

Safe. All that, to be hated and despised by everyone?

As if She’d read my thoughts, the Quetzal Flower said, “But a woman shouldn’t grasp for power. It’s unseemly, isn’t it? Her superiors thought her over-ambitious. Her peers thought her obsessed. Her lovers – and she had many – thought her uncanny. Such is the price.”

”Please…” I said. “There’s no time…”

”In the Chalca Wars, she met a man. A warrior who made no claim on her, who didn’t judge her. A good man, who would fight to see that the proper sacrifices were offered, although he was too hot-headed at times.”

Neutemoc. It sounded far too much like Neutemoc. Please, Duality, no.

”She bore his child, and would have raised him, too, if he hadn’t died at birth.”

”Stop going around in circles. His name,” I said. Her story was over. There was nothing else She could add. She had to give me his name, to banish my doubts.

She watched me, uncannily serene. “Mahuizoh of the Coatlan calpulli.”

 

“He isn’t here,” the Jaguar guard said, angrily. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

The warrior of the Duality who headed my detachment – Ixtli, the same one who’d headed the unsuccessful search parties – put a hand on his macuahitl sword. “We have the right to search this house.”

If the guard hadn’t had both hands full, one around the shell-grip of his spear, one holding his feathered shield, he’d have thrown them in the air. “You can search all you want. What I’m telling you is that I haven’t seen Mahuizoh come here. And I’ve been on guard duty since noon.”

”So where is he?” I asked, intervening before matters turned sour.

The guard shrugged. “I’m not a calendar priest. I don’t do divination. All I know is–”

”Yes. We understood that, I think.” Ixtli turned to me. “Do you want us to search the House?”

I was about to nod, not caring overmuch about making enemies of the Jaguar Knights at this juncture. But someone interrupted us.

”What seems to be the problem here?” a voice asked, behind me.

I turned. My gaze met that of a Knight in Jaguar regalia, but somehow different. The plume behind the jaguar’s head was made of emerald-green quetzal tail-feathers, enough to be worth a fortune; the sword at his belt was decorated with turquoise, carnelian and lapis in addition to obsidian shards. His hands, tanned and callused, bore several rings, all of good craftsmanship.

”This man wants to search the Jaguar House, Commander Quiyahuayo.”

Commander Quiyahuayo, Head of the Jaguar Brotherhood, looked at me, thoughtfully. “The High Priest for the Dead?” he asked. “You’d be Neutemoc’s brother, I take it.”

I wasn’t surprised at his shrewdness: to stay in his high position, he would need great intelligence, as well as political acumen. “Yes,” I said.

The guard’s face darkened. “The traitor’s brother?” he asked.

Commander Quiyahuayo lifted a hand. “Not so fast, Yolyama. Guilt has not been established. What do you want?” he asked, turning back towards me.

I looked at him, trying to establish his feelings towards Neutemoc. He’d be of noble birth; how would he view the ascension of my commoner brother into the nobility?

”I’m looking for evidence,” I said, non-committal.

”About your brother’s case?” Commander Quiyahuayo asked. He scratched his chin. “I was given to understand that there were… complications.”

”Yes.” He missed nothing, and I had no time to fence. I decided to be frank with him. “Another of your Knights might be involved in this.”

Commander Quiyahuayo raised an eyebrow.

“Mahuizoh of the Coatlan calpulli,” I added.

Commander Quiyahuayo grimaced. “Mahuizoh,” he said. His distaste was palpable. He hadn’t reacted that way when I’d mentioned Neutemoc. “I see.”

”You’re surprised?” I asked.

Commander Quiyahuayo’s face was too blank to reveal anything. “Surprise is a weapon,” he said. “I try not to let it be used against me.” He scratched his chin, again. “You want to search this House?”

”We’re just looking for him,” I said. “I need to ask him a few questions.”

”We’ll be discreet,” the Duality warrior Ixtli added.

”I see,” Commander Quiyahuayo repeated. “I have no objections. But make it fast, please. The sooner the Jaguar Knights withdraw from this sordid business, the better.

”Yolyama,” he said to the guard. “Show them around, will you?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away.

The guard looked at me, then spat onto the ground. “You’re lucky it was Mahuizoh you asked after,” he said. “The commander’s never liked him.”

”Why?” Ixtli asked.

The guard’s face closed. “Not your concern,” he said. “The commander said you could search the House. That’s all. Don’t you expect more.”

So there were factions, in the Jaguar Knights; and Mahuizoh was obviously not on the commander’s side. I wasn’t really surprised. It seemed to be the same everywhere within the Sacred Precinct. How secure was Quiyahuayo’s position?

The search wasn’t long, although it still felt like time wasted: by the time we exited the house, the sun was halfway down to the horizon line, and the light bathing the temples of the Sacred Precinct had turned as golden as ripe maize.

We’d seen rooms where the young Jaguar Knights – those still unmarried and without lands of their own – would spend the night; common rooms, filled with bored Knights playing patolli, focused on the rattle of the dice to the exclusion of everything else; courtyards where the recruits practised with spears and feather-shields. But no trace of Mahuizoh. Though I had never met the man, the slave Huacqui had provided me with enough a description to stop and question everyone who fitted it.

All wasn’t lost, however: one of the Jaguar Knights had given us the address of Mahuizoh’s house.

”I assume you’ll want us to go there next,” Ixtli said.

I nodded. “We have to find him.” I still had no proof: just a fanciful story of a disappointed lover who might have turned to abduction and murder. It wouldn’t hold before Pinahui-tzin, and certainly not before the Imperial Courts.

We had to find Mahuizoh; and we had to force him to confess where he’d hidden Priestess Eleuia.

 

Mahuizoh’s house was a luxurious one, brimming with slaves, its roof planted with a lush carpet of marigolds and yellow tomato flowers. By its size, it must have lodged more than Mahuizoh’s immediate family.

The slave at the door was certainly not expecting a dozen Duality warriors. “And you would be…?” he asked, trying to pretend unconcern. But his voice shook.

”We’ve come to see Mahuizoh.” Duality, let him be home.

He looked doubtful. “I’ll ask,” he said and ducked briefly into the courtyard. I heard him call out to his fellow slaves; after a short time, he came back, and said, “The mistress will see you.”

”Mistress?” Ixtli mouthed. “What in the Duality’s name?”

I gestured for him to be silent. If Mahuizoh wanted to toy with us, handing us to his wife…

Ixtli and I left the warriors at the entrance, covering all possible exits, and entered the house.

The woman who received us in the house’s reception room was even older than Ceyaxochitl: too old to be Mahuizoh’s wife. Her seamed face had seen far more than a bundle of fifty-two years, and the stiff way she sat in her low-backed chair suggested acute rheumatism. By her side was a slightly younger woman: middle-aged, with a face that had sagged too much to remain beautiful.

”I hear you’ve come looking for my son,” the old woman said.

Mahuizoh’s mother, then. I nodded – and then, unsure of whether she could see me at all, said, “We’re here to ask him some questions.”

The old woman cackled. “The law finally caught up with him? Doesn’t surprise me, doesn’t surprise me.”

”Auntie Cocochi,” the younger woman said, sharply. “That’s not what you wanted to say.”

The old woman’s rheumy eyes focused on her neighbour. “Did I? I always knew he would amount to nothing, that boy.”

”He’s sheltering you in his house,” the younger woman said, shaking her head. By her tone, it was an argument she’d tried before, to no avail.

Cocochi snapped, “He still doesn’t respect his elders. It was a different matter when Xoco was alive. She knew her place as my son’s wife, she wouldn’t speak unless spoken to. I’ve always told him he should have done the proper thing by his clan, that he should have remarried–”

”Please,” I interrupted. “We really have to find Mahuizoh. It’s urgent.”

”Urgent? Ha!” Cocochi said. “Trouble again, mark my words. That boy was trouble from the moment he exited my womb.”

”Do you,” I said, slowly, trying not to show my exasperation, “know where Mahuizoh might be?”

”My cousin isn’t home,” the younger woman said. “He didn’t come home last night, either.”

”Sleeping out with his whores,” Cocochi mumbled.

The younger woman’s eyes went upwards, briefly. “He’s not here.” She lowered her voice and said, “If he was here, she’d know it, and she wouldn’t leave him a moment of peace.”

I didn’t think Cocochi was deliberately trying to impede my inquiry. Though I dearly would have liked to tone down some of that acidity, it wasn’t my place.

”Any ideas where he might be?” I asked.

”In the girls’ calmecac?” the young woman started, and then covered her mouth. “His sister is there,” she said, a little too belatedly.

I sighed. When having an affair, be discreet, which was obviously an art neither Neutemoc nor Mahuizoh had mastered. I was starting to think subtlety wasn’t the hallmark of Jaguar Knights.

”I know about the calmecac,” I said finally. “Any other ideas?”

”What’s he saying?” Cocochi asked.

The younger woman shook her head, in answer to my previous question.

”Can we look around the house?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Of course,” she said, with a tired smile. “It will give Auntie Cocochi something to harp on for days.” And get the attention of Mahuizoh’s mother away from her, which would surely be restful.

Again, not much. We searched room after luxurious room: most of them were occupied by Mahuizoh’s aunts, uncles, siblings and siblings’ descendants, but Mahuizoh himself was nowhere to be found. Not a trace of him, or of someone who might know where he was. Wherever was he keeping Eleuia? Why abduct her, rather than kill her, if he hadn’t wanted something out of her – sex, abject excuses for her infidelity – something else entirely?

Disappointed, Ixtli and I went back to the Duality House. We settled in a small, airy room that served as the headquarters for his regiment. A map was spread out on a reed mat, depicting the four districts of Tenochtitlan, with the streets and the canals coloured in a different pattern, and small counters obviously standing for men or units of men. Ixtli looked to be a careful, meticulous planner.

Slaves brought us refreshments, and a quick meal of atole, maize porridge leavened with spices. I washed it down with cactus juice, enjoying the tart, prickling taste on my tongue.

”We’re wasting our time,” Ixtli said. “Why don’t we just arrest everyone? We might just start with that awful old woman.”

I shook my head, although I had the same sense of standing on the brink of failure. “Do you really think it will solve anything?”

”No,” Ixtli said. “But it would be something. Are we going to run around Tenochtitlan another cursed time?”

I said, “I have no idea where to look, but…”

His face was grimly amused. “Wherever he’s hiding, we can’t find it.”

”No,” I said. But we needed to find him. We needed Eleuia, alive, and evidence to present to Neutemoc’s trial.

Tlaloc’s lightning strike me, how could I be so utterly ineffective?

”Can you ask around the city?” I asked Ixtli.

He shrugged, in a manner that implied he didn’t have much hope. “The Guardian put us at your disposal. I’ll do my work. But I’ll warn you beforehand–”

”That you promise nothing. I know,” I snapped, and realised how tired I was. It was late evening by now. The sun had set. Every passing moment lessened the light that filtered through the entrance-curtain, and we still had no trail. Nothing. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s been a bone-breaking day.”

Ixtli looked at me much as Yaotl had, on the previous evening. “Go get some sleep, priest. You can’t help here. We’ll send for you the moment we find him.”

Ixtli was right. They’d be more efficient without my hampering them.

 

I walked back to my temple in a tense mood, thinking of Neutemoc at the Imperial Audience. Duality, what was I going to tell Huei?

There was no vigil in the darkened shrine: a handful of offering priests were laying out marigold flowers on the altar, but the hymns wouldn’t start for another hour. Frustrated, I found a small, empty room reserved for the instruction of the calmecac students, and closing my eyes, sat in meditation.

It didn’t work. All I could focus on wasn’t the safety of the Fifth World, but the missing Mahuizoh; the fate of my brother, hanging in the balance; and over it all, the shadowy shape of Xochiquetzal, unattainable, unadulterated desire.

The Duality curse us. Did I really need to dwell on the goddess now?

I changed approaches, and made my offerings of blood: drawing thorns through my earlobes, once, twice, three times, until the sharp, stabbing pain had drowned every one of my thoughts.

But I still couldn’t banish the image of the Quetzal Flower. In my mind, it merged with that of Priestess Eleuia: everything a man could desire or aspire to, a woman who would suck the marrow from your bones and still leave you smiling.

 I threw the bloodied thorns on the floor, exasperated. I needed to focus on Neutemoc, not on a goddess I didn’t worship.

Go bury yourself with the dead, Acatl, if you can’t deal with what makes us alive.

I wasn’t a coward. I’d made my choice, entered the priesthood of Mictlantecuhtli, but I hadn’t been running away from the battlefield. I hadn’t been running away from life.

The Southern Hummingbird strike Her. I wasn’t a coward.

”Acatl-tzin?” The voice tore me from my nightmares.

Ichtaca. Good, reliable Ichtaca, his thoughtful face an anchor for my sanity. “Yes?” I said, attempting to keep my voice from shaking.

If he heard it, he gave no sign of it, save for a slight tightening of his lips. “You have a visitor. It’s late at night, but given how urgent the matter sounded…”

I shook my head. Ixtli. It had to be Ixtli, with news of where the Jaguar Knight Mahuizoh was. “No,” I said. “Show them in.”

Ichtaca’s lips pursed again. “In here?” he said. His torch illuminated the whitewashed walls, the minimal furniture. “As you wish.”

But the man who came behind Ichtaca wasn’t who I’d hoped for, not at all.

”Acatl-tzin,” Teomitl said. He radiated untapped energy: the magical veil around him absorbing it, pulsing like a beating heart. “I’ve done what you asked of me.”

I tried to remember what task I’d found for Teomitl. Something that would keep him busy, that would keep him away from me. Searching the girls’ calmecac school, wasn’t it?

”I see,” I said, trying not to let my disappointment show. Whatever Teomitl had found, it could have no bearing on the investigation.

”I was given something for you,” Teomitl said. “By a young girl in one of the furthest courtyards.”

The young girl with the nahual, the one who saw far too much for someone so young. I hadn’t imagined she would contact me again.

”She says she found it in the bushes near the centre of the courtyard. Probably shaken loose when the beast leapt over the wall.”

He was speaking too fast for me to follow: every word tumbled on top of the previous one, forming the basis of some arcane structure I couldn’t comprehend. I raised a hand. “Slow down, Teomitl. What did she find?”

Teomitl smiled, and held out his hand. “This,” he said.

It was the missing pendant from Eleuia’s room. As I’d suspected, it represented the warrior alone, an exquisite miniature of an Eagle Knight in full regalia. The stone was obsidian, though strangely enough, it didn’t shine in the torchlight…

No! This wasn’t obsidian.

I reached out for the pendant. “May I?” I asked Teomitl.

He dropped it in my hand. “It was meant for you.”

I rubbed my fingers on it, felt the familiar protective energy arc from the pendant to my heart, but far, far weaker.

Not obsidian. It was jade. Blackened jade.

And that in turn could only mean one thing: that I had been wrong. Only underworld magic could blacken jade so thoroughly.