Harbinger of the Storm (18 page)

”You already know what I think of the other candidates.” Somehow my questioning appeared to have put him off. He pushed a bowl towards me. The bitter smell of cacao, mingled with that of spices and vanilla, wafted up to my nostrils, tantalising.

”And you know…”

He made a quick, stabbing gesture with his hand, and grimaced as he was reminded of his wounds. “I know, Acatl-tzin, I know. But, as I said before, I’d rather have a good leader than the first that came to mind.”

”Even after seeing this?”

For a moment, anger stole across his stately features. “I won’t forget what happened to Echichilli, or leave it unpaid. But I’ll stand by what I believe.”

Perhaps I was deluding myself, then. If even such a measured man as Manatzpa could bring himself to wait, having seen what a star-demon could do, then how would I stand a chance of convincing Quenami or Tizoc-tzin that we had to choose a Revered Speaker
now?

Manatzpa drained his bowl in one gulp. He still appeared angry; at my questions, or at Echichilli’s death? “I disturb you. I’ll leave you to your rest. We’ll have visitors soon enough.”

Left alone, I drank my own chocolate, enjoying the familiar hint of bitterness taste on my tongue before the chilli overwhelmed it. Manatzpa’s rooms were as devoid of furniture and ornaments as Teomitl. No wonder he liked his nephew enough to support him for the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown.

All the same…

Something felt wrong, and I couldn’t have said what. A premonition, such as the ones the adepts of Quetzalcoatl sometimes received? But I did not worship the Feathered Serpent, or claim any more than a distant allegiance to Him. Perhaps just the wounds and the lightness in my whole body, which would have been enough to make any man feel moody? But, no, it wasn’t that.

My mind could not seem to focus on anything. It drifted, watching the frescoes blur and merge into each other. Huitzilpochtli’s blue-striped face loomed larger and larger, shifting into the grin of a star-demon, and the darkness swarmed over me and swallowed me whole.

In my dreams, I stood on one of the hills around Tenochtitlan, garbed as a High Priest in my cloak embroidered with owls and the skull-mask over my face.

By my side stood other High Priests, Quenami in jaguar skins and Acamapichtli with his heron-plumes, and others, lesser ones I could not recognise. Above us were the stars, blinking slowly and coldly; and they were coming down, one by one, trails of light against the dark sky, growing larger and larger, until we could see the eyes in the joints of their elbows and knees, feel the cold of their passage. The sun had faded into darkness, and the earth underneath rumbled, splitting itself apart…

There was a chant, in the background, harsh, sibilant words in a language that I had heard before and couldn’t place. And then, as everything split apart in a shower of sparks, I could finally make it out.

“From darkness I call you

For the broken, for the discarded

For the imprisoned, wailing in the world below

The world is desiccated bones, twisted and gaunt faces

It is the time of my mastery

The opening of my reign.”

And I knew, too, where I had heard them: they were the words of the invocation Manatzpa had been attempting to make to defend himself against the star-demon – words no one but a devotee of She of the Silver Bells should have been able to use.

I woke up with a start, my heart hammering painfully against the confines of my chest. I felt stiff and sore; but when I attempted to move I only felt the dull, distant pain of healed wounds. It looked as if the priest of Patecatl had indeed come, and healed me while I was asleep – leaving me whole but weak and drained of everything. Great.

The dream remained hovering at the edges of my mind. But, like ice brought from the mountains, it thawed, leaving its revelations mercilessly clear.

Manatzpa. No wonder he had been angry when I had questioned him about his allegiances; no wonder he was willing to temporise, if it would buy the return of his goddess – to lie, to smile, to poison Ceyaxochitl to prevent her from prying any further.

Which meant…

I cast a glance at the empty bowl. I wasn’t feeling any worse, but Ceyaxochitl had not felt the symptoms for a few hours after her return. There was no telling–

Enough. If he had poisoned me – and I could not see why he would take such a risk, not when he had defused my suspicions so deftly with the mention of Teomitl – then there was nothing I could do. Yaotl had said there was no antidote.

In the meantime… in the meantime, I lay alone, exhausted and defenceless with a sorcerer, a murderer and a poisoner as my sole company.

The Duality curse me, where were the other High Priests when you needed them?

There was no way in the Fifth World I could get out discreetly. In my current weakened state I wouldn’t stay up long, and Manatzpa would catch up with me fast.

Not to mention the possibility he’d summon a star-demon, of course. But, even keeping to mundane happenings, the odds did not look good.

If the priest of Patecatl had already come, then the only person I was still waiting for was Teomitl – but he still hadn’t come back.

I was going to need all of the gods’ luck if I wanted to survive the night.

I must have slept, sliding in and out of consciousness, waking up with a vague dread before remembering my predicament, muttering confused prayers and letting darkness overtake me again. I dreamt of coldly amused stars watching me, of the gods turning Their faces away from the city, of Tizoc-tzin’s coronation under the Heavens where shone a bright, cold moon that kept growing larger and larger against the thunderous rattle of huge bells…

I woke again, and the sky through the pillars was grey. Huitzilpochtli grinned at me from the frescoes, far away and powerless, resting in the heartland with no care for us. The air was bitterly cold. I shivered, and drew my cloak closer around me.

”I see you’re awake.”

I had half-expected the voice, what I had not expected was that it would come from so close to me. It took all the nerves I possessed not to jerk in surprise. “Manatzpa?”

He was sitting across from my sleeping mat. A bowl of maize porridge lay between us, along with dried algae. His face in the dim light was unreadable. “I brought you breakfast.”

”Someone…” I fought to part my tongue from the palate where it seemed to have become stuck. “Someone has come.”

Manatzpa looked curious. “Yes. The High Priests, the SheSnake and the Master of the House of Darts. They brought a priest of Patecatl with them, but couldn’t wake you up even after the healing. I told them it wasn’t worth disturbing you.”

Quenami, Acamapichtli, the She-Snake and Tizoc-tzin – all the help I could have expected, but he had sent them away. No one would come back before daybreak. “And Teomitl?”

Manatzpa’s eyes narrowed. Did I seem too eager to leave? He could not possibly have guessed that I knew. “I feel like I’m imposing on you,” I said, with what I hoped was my most embarrassed smile.

”Not at all.” His lips curled up, in that peculiar approximation of a smile. “Anything for the High Priest for the Dead. It’s people like you that keep us safe.”

He would know, of course. I lowered my gaze, as if embarrassed. In reality, I was wondering if Teomitl had come or not, if I could expect him.

Not that it mattered. I made as if to rise, but could not find the strength.

”Acatl-tzin.” Manatzpa shook his head. “Surely you can’t think of leaving so soon. Look at yourself.”

”I have duties,” I gasped, falling back on the sleeping mat.

”Your duties can wait.” His eyes were dark, knowing. “Have some maize porridge.”

And some poison? “I don’t feel very hungry,” I started, but when I saw the shadow steal across his face, I knew I’d gone too far. If he hadn’t been suspicious before, he was now. “But I do appreciate all the trouble you’re going through for my sake.” I reached across, took the bowl, and raised it to my lips, hoping that I wasn’t courting my own death.

The porridge was hot and spicy; my lips tingled from the first sip, but surely it was just my imagination? It couldn’t possibly be that fast-acting.

Better not tempt luck, though. I took a few sips, made a face like a sick man who has discovered he can’t stomach food so soon, and carefully laid the bowl down again. “I’d have thought a man of your stature would have slaves,” I said.

Manatzpa shrugged, an expansive gesture that racked his whole frame. “I have several, but they’re often on errands. I’m young enough to take care of myself, Acatl-tzin.”

He sounded uncannily like Teomitl. If circumstances had been different, I might even have liked him. As it was…

Manatzpa was looking at me, his gaze thoughtful, as if trying to work out something. “Is anything wrong?” I asked.

His lips thinned to a pale brown line against the dark skin of his face, as if he were angry, or amused. “Nothing is wrong, Acatltzin. I just have many things to do, as I have no doubt you have.”

I inclined my head, inhaling the sharp, spicy smell of the maize porridge. “I have no doubt the council will be in a panic after what happened last night.”

Manatzpa’s face did not move. “Two deaths in so little time. Yes, that would be cause for concern.” He gestured again towards the bowls. “You’ve barely eaten anything, Acatl-tzin. Please.”

His eyes were too eager, too hungry. That was when I knew for sure that there
was
something in that porridge, something he wanted me to consume. My lips itched again, as if blood had just returned to numb flesh. Was that what had happened with Ceyaxochitl? “I’ve already told you,” I said, very carefully. “I feel like my stomach has been overturned.” I pointed to the bandages on my chest. “That tends to cut the appetite.” It was hardly a lie. In the past few moments, the feeling of emptiness had seemed to increase a hundredfold – not like the coming of a star-demon, but as if the existing hole in the centre of the Fifth World had spread – had become a maw, sucking me into its depths.

”I see.” Manatzpa’s lips curled up again. He didn’t believe a word of it. “But you need it, believe me.” His voice was flat, his eyes as dull as quarried stone. “If necessary, I’ll force it down your throat.”

My heart missed a beat; I tried to convince myself I’d misheard, but I knew I hadn’t. “Manatzpa.”

He knew. The sensation of emptiness was increasing in my chest. A hollow grew in my stomach, as if dozens of lumps of ice were forming there.

Manatzpa’s face had changed; contempt and hatred filled the emptiness of his eyes, but he had it under control again in a heartbeat, becoming once again the harmless, round-faced man I’d first met. That was more frightening than anything I’d seen that night. “Let’s not dance around each other like warriors at the gladiatorial sacrifice, Acatl-tzin. You know I can’t possibly let you walk out of this room alive.”

There was nothing here I could use; my weapons had been stripped from me, and none were in evidence. He had me backed against a wall, sitting between me and the only exit. Even if I hadn’t been wounded…

The sensation of emptiness was becoming as crippling as the wounds. If I didn’t act now, I never would.

I reached out in a heartbeat, the side of my hand catching the bowls of warm porridge and sending them flying into his face. Then I was up, ignoring the weakness that knifed through me, and running towards the exit with agility I hadn’t known I possessed.

From behind me came curses, and the tread of heavier feet. He was wounded too, but I was drained. He would catch me…

I ran, pain beating like sacrificial drums in my chest. I swung the entrance-curtain out of the way in a jangle of bells, plunged into the courtyard and towards what I hoped was the exit.

I didn’t look back, but I knew he was getting closer.

Another room; another set of entrance-curtains; another courtyard. I wasn’t going the right way.

”Acatl-tzin. This is pointless,” Manatzpa said behind me. His voice quivered, on the edge of breathlessness. “You cannot hope to get out.”

I didn’t bother to answer, just tried to run faster. But he caught the hem of my cloak, sending me sprawling to the ground. “You fool.”

He stood over me in the courtyard under the red, swollen gaze of the Fifth Sun. Obsidian glinted in his hand; a knife. “This is going to be much harder to explain…”

The emptiness in my chest flared to life, a huge fist punching through the confines of the Fifth World. The air around us rippled, the sunlight dimmed, and a cold wind blew through the courtyard, prickling our skins like shards of obsidian.

”What?” Manatzpa asked, the knife pausing in its descent.

I didn’t spare time to think. I pulled myself upwards again, and half-crawled, half-ran towards the entrance-curtain. There were voices, close by, indistinct murmurs that sounded like a lament for the dead.

I burst out of Manatzpa’s rooms into the courtyard, and all but crashed into Teomitl.

”Acatl-tzin?”

He wasn’t alone. A group of guards accompanied him and, just next to him, were a priest of Patecatl, and my sister Mihmatini, pale and wan and looking as though she wanted to tear me to shreds for deliberately splitting my wounds open again. “Acatl!”

I struggled to speak, the air in my lungs like searing fire.

The entrance-curtain tinkled again and Manatzpa staggered out, still holding the knife. It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at; but then his lips curled into a bitter smile, and he threw the knife away. “I see,” he said. “It was good game. A pity I lost.”