Niente
THE SEA WAS CALM, and the nahualli that Niente had
set to bring the winds were working their spell-staffs hard, the
prows of the ships carving long trails of white water. Niente gazed
out from the aftcastle of the Yaoyotl,
which had begun life as a Holdings warship before its capture
fifteen years ago. The Yaoyotl had made
this crossing once before, when Tecuhtli Zolin had made his foolish
and fatal invasion of the Holdings. Now, it was cruising eastward
once again, this time accompanied by over three hundred ships of
the Tehuantin navy, three times the number Zolin had used, with an
army aboard the size of that which had crushed the Holdings forces
in Munereo and the other cities of their cousins’ land on the shore
of the Eastern Sea. Niente could look out over the rails of the
Yaoyotl and see the sails, like a flock
of great white sea birds covering the ocean.
The sight was
formidable. When the Easterners saw it approaching, they would
tremble and quake. Niente knew this to be the truth; he had seen it
in Axat’s visions in his scrying bowl. He saw it again now, as he
brought his gaze down to the brass bowl in front of him. He had
dusted it with the magical powder, and he had used the power of the
X’in Ka to open the path-sight. Now, he peered into the green-lit
mists, with his son at his side and his attendant nahualli watching
him carefully. In the mists, scenes flitted by him: he saw the
great island of Karnmor sending a great fume of smoke and ash into
the sky as the ground trembled and the sea itself writhed in
torment. He saw the great Tehuantin fleet ascending the mouth of
the River A’Sele, saw their armies crawling the shore, saw the
walls of Nessantico and its army arrayed there.
But he frowned
slightly as he stared; before, the scenes had the hard-edged
clarity of reality. Now, they were smudged and slightly indistinct,
as if he were seeing them more with his own eyes than with Axat’s
help. It troubled him.
Where is the Long Path? Why do You hide it from me,
Axat?
No, there it was . .
. Once again, he saw the dead Tecuhtli and the dead Nahual, and
beyond them, the Long Path. But it, too, was no longer as clear as
it had been. Interfering visions slid past between him and the
path, as if Axat were saying that movements were afoot that had
twisted and snarled the threads of the future. Niente peered more
closely, trying to see if he could still find the way to the Long
Path. He moved backward in time, saw the myriad possibilities
unfolding . . .
He could feel his son
Atl close to his shoulder, staring into the scrying bowl and
holding his breath as if afraid that it would pierce the mists and
destroy the vision. Niente knew what came next; he also knew that
he could not let Atl see it. Niente exhaled sharply, the green mist
swaying, and grasped the bowl. With an abrupt motion he sent the
water cascading over the rail and into the sea, hissing coldly. At
the same time, Niente felt the weariness of the spell strike him,
causing him to stagger as he stood there. Atl’s arm went around his
waist, holding him up.
He took a long
breath, setting the scrying bowl back on the table. He
straightened, and Atl’s hand dropped away from him. “Clean this,”
he said to the closest of his attendants; the man scurried forward
and took the brass bowl, bowing his head to Niente and hurrying
off. “I will rest now,” he told the others, “and talk to Tecuhtli
Citlali afterward. There was nothing new in the
vision.”
They bowed. He could
sense them watching him: was he weaker than he
had been? Were the lines carved deeper in his face, were his
features more twisted and deformed than before, his eyes more
whitened with cataracts? Was this the time to challenge him, to
become Nahual myself? That’s what they were thinking, all of
them.
Perhaps his son no
less than any of the others.
He could not let that
happen. Not yet. Not until he had fulfilled the vision he’d
glimpsed in the bowl. He forced himself to stand as upright as his
curved spine allowed, to smile his twisted smile, and to pretend
that his body hurt no more than was usual for a man his
age.
The nahualli, with
polite protestations, began to drift away to their other
tasks.
“You stopped the
vision before it was finished,” Atl said quietly.
“There was nothing
more to see.”
“How do you know
that, Taat? Haven’t you told me that Axat sometimes changes the
vision, that the actions of those in the vision can alter the
futures, that you must always watch for changes so as to keep to
the best path?”
“There was nothing
more,” Niente said again. He could see the skepticism in his son’s
face, and the suspicion as well. He forced anger into his voice, as
if it were twenty years ago and Atl had broken a bowl in the house.
“Or are you ready to challenge me as Nahual yourself? If you are,
then ready your spell-staff.” Niente grasped for his own, leaning
against the table on the aftcastle, the knobbed end polished with
decades of use, the carved figures dancing underneath his fingers.
He leaned on the spell-staff as if it were a cane, letting it
support his weight.
Atl shook his head,
obviously not willing to let go of the argument. “Taat, I have the
gift of far-sight also. You know that. You can fool most of the
other nahualli, but not me. You’ve seen something that you don’t
want me to see. What is it? Do you see your death, the way you did
that of Techutli Zolin and Talis? Is that what it is?”
Niente wondered
whether that was fear or anticipation he heard in Atl’s voice.
“No,” Niente told him, hoping the young man couldn’t hear the lie.
“You’re mistaken, Atl. You haven’t learned the far-sight yet enough
to know.”
“Because you won’t
let me. ‘Look at me,’ you always say. ‘The cost is too high.’ Well,
Taat, Axat has given me the gift, and it would be an insult to Her
not to use it. Or are you afraid that I will want to be Nahual in your place?”
The salt wind ruffled
Atl’s long, dark hair; the canvas above them boomed and snapped.
The captain of the Yaoyotl called out
orders and sailors hurried to their tasks. “You will be Nahual,” he told Atl. “One day. I’m certain
of that.” I’ve seen that . . . He
thought the words but would not say them for fear that saying them
would change the future. “Axat has gifted you, yes. And I’ve . . .
I’ve been a poor taat and a poor Nahual for not teaching you all I
know. Maybe, maybe I’ve been a bit jealous of your gift.” He saw
Atl’s face soften at that: another lie, for there was no jealousy
within him, only a slow dread, but he knew the words would convince
Atl. “I would like to start to make up for that, Atl. Now: this
evening after I’ve talked to Tecuhtli Citlali. Come to my cabin
when they bring me my supper, and I will begin to show you. Will
that do?”
In answer, Atl hugged
Niente fiercely. Niente felt him kiss the top of his bald head. He
released him just as suddenly, and Niente saw him smiling. “I will
be there,” Atl said. He started to turn, then stopped. He glanced
back over his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Niente nodded, and
gave his own lopsided smile in return, but there was no passion in
it, no joy.
He wondered how long
he could keep Axat’s vision secret. He wondered—if Atl came to
realize what that vision meant—if he would be able to achieve that
vision at all.
