NINETEEN

The Drowned Ones

The ahuizotl remained in the lake, though its dark shape followed us as we walked around the shore to enter the temple.

To my surprise, there was no priest on watch at the temple entrance. But, in the courtyard, Eliztac himself was waiting for us, his soaked plume of heron feathers drooping on his head.

He grimaced when he saw us. “You shine like wildfires. I presume you’re not here to pay homage to Chalchiutlicue.”

”In a manner of speaking,” I said, cautiously. “We need help.”

Eliztac’s eyes wandered from Teomitl to Neutemoc. My brother wasn’t in Jaguar regalia, but his rigid stance could only belong to a warrior. And the Duality knew what Eliztac made of Teomitl, who currently radiated light like Tonatiuh Himself.

”I think I already told you–” he started.

”We’re not here to see her,” I said.

As I’d foreseen, Neutemoc stiffened. “Acatl,” he said, warningly. “Don’t tell me–”

”It was the closest temple,” I snapped. And, without waiting for his answer, I said to Eliztac: “I need to get into Tlalocan, into Chalchiutlicue’s Meadows.”

His eyebrows rose. He looked upwards, at the rain. “Magical water. A bit of an odd season,” he said. His gaze was shrewd. He had to see how each drop attacked our protection. “I presume you’re seeking guidance.”

”In a manner of speaking,” I said, again. “But it’s urgent.”

Eliztac’s gaze was sarcastic. “What isn’t?” he said. “Very well. If you’ll swear to me you’re not here to see her, I’ll let you in.”

It was Neutemoc who spoke. “No,” he said. “I won’t swear to that.” His face was pale, leached of all colours by the darkness, and the rain fell on his cheeks like tears.

Eliztac started to say something; but Neutemoc forestalled him. “I’ll see my wife,” he said. “And don’t think you can prevent me.”

Eliztac took us through a first courtyard, and then into a smaller one, closer to the heart of the building. Everything, from the painted adobe walls to the beaten earth under our sandals, shimmered with magic: a thick covering of wards against which the raindrops slid, and became normal water again.

Teomitl had also noticed it. “It’s different in here,” he said.

Eliztac barely turned. “This place is under the gaze of the goddess,” he said. “This way.”

At the far end of the courtyard, he stopped before the door of a room, its entrance-curtain decorated with a heron in flight and patterns of seashells.

”I can make my own way,” Neutemoc said.

”I have no doubt you can,” Eliztac said, gravely. “But I can’t leave you alone here.”

Neutemoc drew himself up. “Do you think I’ll try to take their dues from the gods?”

”I have seen many men do many things,” Eliztac said. “Not all of which contributed to the continuation of the Fifth World.”

Neutemoc’s face darkened. “You–”

He hadn’t been in a good mood for a while. I could understand why, but it might all have ended badly if someone hadn’t lifted the entrance-curtain. The tinkle of bells spread between Neutemoc and Eliztac, stopping them dead.

It was Huei, as I had never seen her: her face painted white, lips greyed, her unbound hair falling onto her shoulders in a cascade of darkness. Her shift, too, was white, as if it had already been time for her sacrifice.

My heart tightened in my chest.

”Neutemoc.” She turned, slightly, towards me. “Acatl. What a surprise.” Her voice was ironic. Behind her, a green-clad attendant closed the curtain and moved closer to her, in protection.

Neutemoc’s hands had clenched into fists. “You had to know I’d come.”

”I’d almost given up hope that you’d make it out of your cage.” Under the white makeup, her face was expressionless; but in her eyes shone tears. “But I’m sure you’re not here for my health.”

”Why, Huei?” Neutemoc asked, the question bursting out of him before he could hold it back.

”No one can be cheated of their dues,” Huei said. “Gods, goddesses, wives…”

I felt embarrassed, as I had when they’d started quarrelling in front of me; as if the masks had fallen, revealing the faces of mortals instead of gods. Standing between them wasn’t my place. It would never be. “I think we shouldn’t be here,” I said, pushing Teomitl away from Neutemoc.

”Do stay,” Huei said, and the irony in her voice was as frightening as any ahuizotl. “You’re involved, after all, aren’t you?”

Teomitl and Eliztac, luckier than me, were discreetly withdrawing to the other end of the courtyard. I spread my hands, trying to contain my frustration. “I didn’t cause anything that you didn’t already start. You should have known the consequences of what you did.” Both of them.

Huei said nothing for a while. “They didn’t tell me.”

”The commander?” I asked.

She looked at me, surprised. “Yes. He and his second-in-command. How did you know?”

”He told us,” I said, curtly. “And he’s dead now.”

Huei’s hands clenched into fists. “I see. It doesn’t matter.” She said to Neutemoc, in a lower voice, “But you couldn’t see what was happening, could you?”

He looked at her, for a while. His face was unreadable. “The gods give, and the gods take away.”

”Still your old excuse?” Huei crossed her arms over her chest. “Everything dies, Neutemoc. That’s no reason to detach yourself from what’s yours. That’s no reason to abandon me or your children.”

Neutemoc’s face was white. “You’ve seen how easily everything can tumble.”

”Then things are all the more precious, aren’t they?” She shook her head. “You can’t armour yourself against loss, Neutemoc. That doesn’t work.”

”I’ve seen,” he said, stiffly. “But still–” His voice was low. “I almost lost you to childbirth. Twice. How can I love what can’t last?”

”Everyone does,” Huei said. Her voice was sad. “And lust won’t make you forget.”

”No,” Neutemoc said. “It will not. We agree on that, if on nothing else.” His lips tightened around an unseen obstacle.

Huei looked at him for a while. “No matter,” she said, with a sigh. “What’s done is done. I have no regrets.”

”You sought to kill him,” I said, softly, not knowing what else to say.

”Yes,” she said, defiant. “Because he left me no choice.”

Feeling more and more of an intruder, I started slowly retreating. Neither of them made a gesture to stop me.

Neutemoc didn’t move. He shook his head, once, twice. “The children miss you,” he said, finally.

Huei stood, tall and proud, as she had in her own household. “I’ve made my choices.”

I joined Eliztac and Teomitl at the other end of the courtyard. If Neutemoc said something more to Huei, I didn’t hear it. How could they both have been so foolish – too blind to see the consequences of their acts, in spite of what Huei had blithely affirmed?

Once it had been established not only that I hadn’t been there to coerce Huei into leaving but that I’d brought her husband to see her, Eliztac became more helpful. He probably thought our request to go into Chalchiutlicue’s Meadows was a crazy endeavour: two warriors – a far cry from the peasants the Storm Lord and his wife favoured – and a priest of Mictlan, whose magic was anathema to life. The equivalent of mice trying to walk through an eagle’s eyrie. But, after all, as he said, our lives were our own.

He led us into a smaller room, with a discreet altar to the Jade Skirt. The room was dark, illuminated only by the flames of a brazier, and filled with the wet, earthy smell of churned mud. A limestone statue of the goddess stood behind the altar: a woman with braids and a shawl with green tassels, opening out Her hands to encompass all of the Fifth World.

Eliztac knelt before the altar, whispering a brief prayer. Then he withdrew from a wicker chest a small figurine of the goddess, which he set on the altar, within a ceramic bowl.

”Stand this way,” he said, pointing to a carved pattern on the floor: a huge water-glyph, still bearing traces of dried blood. And, to me: “I’ll open the gate, but you’ll have to complete my spell with your own blood offerings.”

I knelt within the glyph, running my fingers on the smooth stone. “I’m used to it,” I said. There was a slight draught that raised goose bumps on my skin: an air current running from behind the altar to the door. There must have been a hole somewhere in the wall.

”Our blood, too?” Teomitl asked. He was watching the statue of Chalchiutlicue as if it might come to life at any moment. Despite the accumulation of magic in the room, I didn’t think this was possible.

Eliztac shook his head. “Acatl’s blood should be enough.”

Neutemoc wasn’t speaking. He stood inside the glyph in his appointed place, but he was sunk in one of his moods again.

Eliztac began chanting: a repetitive hum that started low, and gradually rose until it resonated in my chest:

“You created the Third World

The Age of Water, the Age of Streams and Oceans
The Age of Your unending bounty
Giving Your essence to us…”

Gently, he set the figurine within the brazier. The fire flared black for one moment, before the flames began eating away at the statue. It burnt, not like wood, but with the mingled, acrid smells of resin and copal, creating a black smoke that fled towards us. The magic in the room intensified.

I knelt and opened three slashes on the back of my hand with my obsidian knife. Blood dripped out, settling in the grooves of the glyph.

“You destroyed the Third World

The Age of Water, the Age of Streams and Oceans The Age of Your unending bounty

Water burst from the ground, from the deepest caves Water to cover the earth, to drown the fields…”

The smoke, billowing around us, grew thicker and thicker until only the area within the glyph was left clear. I couldn’t make out Eliztac; his voice, singing the end of the hymn, receded further and further away.

Through the pungent smell came another: that of wet earth, mingled with the faint, heady scent of flowers. The smoke swept through the glyph, wrapping itself around us until I could no longer see anything. Copal and resin invaded my lungs. A cough welled up, irrepressible, and I found myself on my knees, struggling to breathe.

Light blazed, across the glyph. The smoke slowly vanished, revealing, as far as the eye could see, a land of marshes and deserted Floating Gardens. The air was saturated with magic – not the feeble makings of humans, but something far more primordial: the magic of a goddess, unconstrained by any mortal concern.

I stood up, carefully. My sandals squelched: the lines of the glyph were traced in the mud at my feet, and filled with water instead of blood.

Neutemoc and Teomitl were still on their knees, clearing the last of the smoke from their lungs. I stood, looking around the pools. It was a quiet, peaceful land. But I wasn’t fooled. We weren’t welcome here, and never would be. The more quickly we got out of here, the better.