Harbinger of the Storm (37 page)

Pezotic’s eyes widened, and the fear grew stronger. I hadn’t thought it was possible, but in the death sight, I could make out a yellow aura around him, exuded from his body like noxious sweat. “You don’t know anything,” he said.

”People are dead,” I said, and saw him flinch, not in surprise, but because he was imagining what could have happened to him had he stayed behind. “Three councilmen. Ocome, Echichilli. Manatzpa.” And Ceyaxochitl, but that was a wound I carried on my own, an event like a cold stone in my belly, but one that wouldn’t affect him.

”This has nothing to do with me,” Pezotic said. I wasn’t surprised, not even disappointed. My opinion of him hadn’t been high to start with.

”Then why did you leave?”

“I go where I wish.”

“You’re a councilman.” Teomitl shook his head. “You don’t.”

Pezotic’s lips stretched, in what might have been a smile if fear hadn’t washed away every distinctive feature of his face. “I approve new buildings in Tenochtitlan. I have no doubt they can find someone to replace me, Teomitl-tzin.”

So he knew who Teomitl was, but hadn’t admitted it beforehand. “We’re not here on petty errands of who does what and who replaces whom. What I want to know is who is summoning star-demons in the palace, before the whole council dies.”

His lips moved, a smile again, but I’d never quite seen the like. Sick pleasure, and some kind of vindication, and… “What do you know, Pezotic?”

Teomitl’s face shifted, became the harsh one of Jade Skirt again, as distant and uncaring as the goddess Herself. “He knows exactly what’s going on.”

”I don’t,” Pezotic said, far too quickly and smoothly to be the truth. “I swear I don’t – let me go, please.”

I glanced behind us. Nezahual-tzin’s guards were still arguing with the priests, but it was only a matter of time before they solved their mutual problems and turned their attention to us.

I cast my stone in the darkness, then, hoping it would strike water instead of dry, sterile ground. “The Emperor and Tizoctzin were onto something, weren’t they? Some plan to make sure Tizoc-tzin got the full approval of the council.”

His eyes moved away from me. “You understand nothing, priest.”

For some reason, it rankled that he couldn’t even see who I was – to be sure, I attended Court only irregularly, and had never claimed to be indispensable. But still…

”Show some respect,” Teomitl said. His eyes were green from end to end, the irises and pupils subsumed in the tide of Chalchiuhtlicue’s magic. “Acatl-tzin is High Priest for the Dead.”

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t seem to faze Pezotic. I looked again. The conversation between the guards and the priests appeared to be winding down. We were running out of time. Not that we’d had much to start with.

Time to give up on subtlety. “Fine,” I said. I pointed to the guards. “Do you know who they belong to?”

”Who you choose to ally yourself with is none of my concern.”

”Oh, it’s going to be. Do you know Nezahual-tzin?”

”A mere boy,” Pezotic said. “Even if what you said was true, why should it frighten me?”

”Because, boy or not, he’s got the means to make sure you go back to Tenochtitlan.”

His face twisted then, opened up like a diseased flower. “You have no authority–”

”You’ll find Nezahual-tzin has. Teotihuacan would be wise not to anger one of the rulers of the Triple Alliance.”

”That’s a lie. I’m here as a citizen of Tenochtitlan and a pilgrim devoted to Quetzalcoatl, and you can’t take me away.” Pezotic was speaking faster now, words merging into one another with barely a pause. “You or Nezahual-tzin, or whoever you claim to be speaking in the name of.”

The guards were coming our way now. Their leader called out to me. “Is that the man we’re looking for?”

I cursed under my breath. I didn’t want Nezahual-tzin involved in this more than he had to, but I had little choice over the matter.

On the other hand, as a means of pressure. “Yes,” I said. “Let’s get him back.”

Pezotic looked back and forth from me to the guards, from the guards to the priests, who stood still with carefully guarded faces, waiting to see how it would all play out. “You can’t,” he said. “You can’t take me back there. You have to leave me here…”

”Then talk.” Teomitl withdrew the
macuahitl
sword, considered the guards with a cocked head. “Should I slow them down, Acatl-tzin?”

I held up a hand to tell him to wait. They were strolling nearer, taking their time, secure in their numbers and might.

Pezotic looked up at me, his eyes pleading in a sickening manner. I was no warrior, but the craven way he made himself the centre of the universe was disgusting. “Please–”

When I didn’t answer, he whispered, “If I go back to Tenochtitlan, I’ll die.”

”Death comes to us all,” I said.

”Don’t give me that, priest,” he spat. “Death is nothing but oblivion, but what will happen to us all is worse than that. You know it. Those killed won’t dissolve before Lord Death’s Throne, or ascend into the Heaven of the Sun. We’ll serve Him forever. That was the price.”

I signalled to Teomitl to go speak to the guards, hoping that he’d interpret my gestures correctly and not rush into attacking them. “What price?” I asked. “Manatzpa-tzin spoke of duty…”

”Duty?” Pezotic spat again. His saliva glistened on the ground between my sandals, as disgusting as the trail of a snail. “We weren’t asked, priest. None of us. It’s not duty at all. That old clawless buzzard Echichilli got it into his head that he was going to help Tizoc-tzin, and Axayacatl-tzin agreed… and we weren’t given a choice.”

Tizoc-tzin and Axayacatl-tzin. And Echichilli. The tar. The ten jars of tar Palli had tracked into the Revered Speaker’s rooms. And the old, old death that was there, hanging over the place like a pall.

Surely– A hollow was forming in the pit of my stomach, as cold as ice on Mount Popocatepetl, opening deeper and deeper with every one of his words. “What kind of help?” I asked. “Summoning the star-demons?” I stole a glance backwards. Teomitl looked to be arguing with the guards. Jade Skirt’s magic wreathed him in green, watery reflections, but so far no one seemed to be attacking anyone. Good. The Duality only knew how long this could last.

Probably not long.

”Of course not. That would have been too dangerous.” Pezotic looked up at me as if I were the worst of fools. I felt like shaking him.

“Then what?”

His lips narrowed. He closed his eyes, as if accessing a memory that was too much to bear – not hard to imagine, given what I’d seen of his mettle. “Axayacatl-tzin wanted to make sure that he’d leave a strong empire behind. That what Moctezuma-tzin had started, and what he’d continued, would go on for another reign, that of a strong Lord of Men, of a strong warrior.”

Unless he replaced Tizoc-tzin with another kind of man altogether, I couldn’t see what could be done about this at all. “You’re not making any sense.”

Pezotic smiled, that slimy expression again, of someone who knew the position of all the beans on the board and was intending to profit from the situation for all it was worth. “He wasn’t a fool, and neither was Echichilli. They both knew that Tizoc-tzin’s biggest problem wasn’t the lack of support, or his unwarlike disposition.”

”Go on.” The pit in my stomach was large enough to fit several levels of Mictlan in by now. I glanced at the guards, thinking we would be rounded up and arrested at any moment – but they stood gaping, watching Pezotic as if trying to make sense of his words.

”What makes a good Revered Speaker, Acatl-tzin?”

I could see only one thing which didn’t relate to any of what Pezotic had mentioned before. I said, very slowly, hardly daring to breathe, “The Revered Speaker is the agent of Huitzilpochtli on Earth. He makes sure that we are safe from star-demons and the myriad other creatures trying to overthrow the established order.” And, very slowly, because I remembered what someone – Acamapichtli, or perhaps the She-Snake – had once told me. “Tizoc-tzin doesn’t have the Southern Hummingbird’s favour. I still can’t see–”

”Favour can be gained,” Pezotic said, bitterly. “With the proper tools.”

”I thought the Southern Hummingbird was weak– Oh.” It had been before Axayacatl-tzin’s death, and the jeopardy that had ensued.

”Echichilli couldn’t give Tizoc-tzin any human support. He was much too honest to bribe or threaten the council, no matter how great his influence with them might have been. But he thought he could plead with a god.”

He thought he…

Oh no. But Pezotic was going on, regardless of what discomfort he was causing me; or was he all too aware of it, and glorying in the horror he could see, shocked into every feature of my face?

”Echichilli gathered us all one night, in the Imperial Chambers, the whole council save Tizoc-tzin. He had traced a great glyph on the floor, that of
Ollin
.” Four Movement, the name of the current age. “We all disrobed, and offering priests painted us with tar.”

Tar. Boats, Ichtaca had said, but I’d failed to make the logical leap. A boat implied a journey, and not necessarily one contained within the Fifth World.

It had been a slow process – the tar spread over the skin, cutting the flow of air to the body – the hallucinations starting, the feeling of floating above the room and slowly going away, like a flock of birds released into the sky. Pezotic was scarce on details. I guessed he had no wish to remember the whole ordeal. Of all the painful ways to rejoin the world of the gods…

”You didn’t know,” I said, slowly.

”Not until we came back. But we should have known, shouldn’t we?” His voice was bitter. “You can’t have that kind of magic. You can’t travel into the heartland of the Mexica Empire without sacrifices. And we were the sacrifices.”

Oh gods. I had been so wrong about this, from the start. I’d thought the star-demons were summoned by a devotee of She of the Silver Bells, and all the while I had ignored what was staring me in the face. She was trapped under the pyramid of the Great Temple; and the Moon, Her heavenly body, was nothing more than a pale parody of the Sun. She wasn’t the one controlling the star-demons, not anymore.

Her brother was.

Huitzilpochtli, the Southern Hummingbird. The youthful, hungry god, dreaming of spilled blood, of row upon row of captives split open and offered up to Him, of barges of tribute following from the five directions of the universe. All that Tizoc-tzin, so wrapped up in his self-aggrandisement, would never be able to give Him.

I closed my eyes. “The embassy failed, didn’t it? Huitzilpochtli refused to grant Tizoc-tzin His favour.”

”Of course.” Pezotic smiled again, and for the first time it eclipsed his fear. “Tizoc-tzin was the only member of the council who didn’t come. Of course the future Revered Speaker couldn’t be sacrificed like a common victim. And of course Huitzilpochtli didn’t like that.” He shivered again. He hadn’t told me anything of what had gone on in the heartland itself. I wondered what could be more unpleasant than slowly suffocating to death – and decided I could live without knowing.

Tizoc-tzin hadn’t come. He hadn’t been willing to offer himself up like the others – raw cowardice. I’d never had any personal contact with the Southern Hummingbird, but I could imagine how He would feel about that.

”And the star-demons?”

Pezotic shivered again. “Sacrifices,” he said. “Itzpapalotl.”

Gods, I could have kicked myself. Itzpapalotl was the Obsidian Butterfly, the living incarnation of a sacrificial knife. And her underlings the star-demons were the same, tools for claiming blood and souls.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t heard from the guards in a while; or, indeed, much of anything. I looked back, and wished I hadn’t. Teomitl was facing the leader of the warriors, while the other three sat on the ground, looking dazed.

I forced my attention back to Pezotic. “Why come here? It’s Fifth Sun territory, isn’t it?”

Pezotic shook his head. “Not that. It’s the place where order was shaped out of darkness and chaos. The place where the Fifth Sun called the world into being. No destructive influences can come here. I’m safe here.” He hugged himself, as if he didn’t quite believe it.

”And that’s all you know?” I asked, but saw the gleam in his eyes, the unmistakable hints of joy. Something else…

Oh no.

He must have seen the horror dawning in my eyes, the clutch of ice tightening round my heart. “It’s not the council that’s the problem,” I said, slowly. “Their fate is already sealed, the price has already been paid. It’s not… ” Not the council, but those who had sent them here, those who had to pay for their presumption. Echichilli was dead, and so was Axayacatltzin, but there remained the main instigator of all of this, the man to whom the Southern Hummingbird had refused to grant his favour.

The man who, by now, through cajoling and threatening and bribing and the gods knew what else Quenami could come up with, would have been elected Revered Speaker of the Mexica Empire.

I couldn’t remember an instance of a Revered Speaker killed within days or hours of being elected. But, the Storm Lord’s lightning strike me, I couldn’t even dwell on the consequences. If nothing kept the Southern Hummingbird in check, if nothing sheltered us, if we didn’t have His favour anymore…

There were dozens of city-states watching us, waiting for any sign of weakness to launch themselves at our throats like vultures finishing off dying animals, to say nothing of the magical consequences…

We had to get back to Tenochtitlan, and fast, before the worst happened.

Sorting out the conflict between Teomitl and the guards was tricky, but not impossible. It did end up with both of us being “escorted” back to Nezahual-tzin, all but prisoners. They grabbed Pezotic, too, in spite of his protestations. He looked even uglier than before, all hunched back on himself like the Aged Fire-God.

”I’m not sure I understand,” Teomitl said. They had confiscated his
macuahitl
sword; and his face was back to normal, although some of the divine light still seemed to be clinging to his features, a fact I’d once have considered as faintly worrying were it not for the urgency gnawing at my entrails like a fanged snake. “You said we had to keep ready for our escape.”